Scheming with the Devil
by nymphess
Summary: AU. Posing as Itachi's lover wasn't as easy of a job as Sakura originally thought, and it only got more complicated when work started coming home with her.
1. I

**I**

* * *

When Sasuke blatantly stated that I was only ever attractive with long hair, I responded with a sweet smile before I knocked him on his ass. When he damn near insisted I stopped cutting my hair two months later, going to extent—with the help of our rambunctious best friend, Naruto—to steal all my scissors and made it so I never got to any of my hair appointments, I ripped both him and Naruto a new one. However, I did "reconsider" his "compliment" and began growing my hair out, just to entertain him and give into my own curiosity.

The Uchihas were never the one to give out compliments freely. It most likely stemmed from their inferiority-complex where even acknowledging another's outstanding quality makes them feel, well, inferior in comparison. That or they genuinely, and delusionally, believe their compliments were equivalent to that of the gods and, thus, no one was every worthy of such half-ass praises. On the very rare occasion that you may spot an Uchiha complimenting someone who didn't originate from their clan, it was probably be at a fancy, business-related dinner party where they had preplanned to manipulate and butter you up because there was something qualifying about you that they wanted. To put short, if you ever find yourself unfortunate enough to be pinned after by any of those egotistic bastards, run like hell. They do not take kindly to "no."

Now just because Sasuke was the youngest—therefore, the least tainted—amongst the Uchiha clansmen and had been my best friend since we were in diapers does not exclude him from this fact. No, his compliment may have been rudely worded, but it was a compliment nonetheless. There was something to gain from the length of my locks, and I was curious to find out what.

Lucky for me, the answer came a year and a half later on a rainy October morning, after I had sprouted ten more inches of hair from my original collarbone length.

It was drizzling when I arrived back home from my usual morning run and instead of the usual empty driveway which rounded the old, dirty fountain that hadn't been used in ages, there was Sasuke's black car and a shiny black SUV parked right behind it. Sasuke's black car sitting in my driveway was nothing unusual. It was easy for him to come and go as he pleased since the security had grown used to letting him in and out of the property for the previous six years. The black SUV, however, was a different story.

Any normal person would walk through the gates, up the driveway, and greet the owner of the mysterious black SUV and ask their business._ But_ I would consider myself to be anything but the "normal person." The only logical thought that ran through my peculiar mind was "this is a motherfucking hostage situation" and I needed to react accordingly to that. It would've been a poorly set hostage situation, I will admit, because why tip me off with an unfamiliar vehicle? But I learned from my few years of experience that it was better to be safe than sorry and to underestimate someone for their rookie mistake.

Ducking behind the stone wall that surrounded my property, I peered over the side and through the not-so golden gates to inspect the situation. The two cars blocked my view of the doorway, so it was difficult, if not impossible, for me to plan out my next move from there.

"Did you see who was in the black van?" I asked the guard who, by then, was used to my antics—if not appreciated them because I made his job a lot easier and saved his life once or twice.

"It was Uchiha Itachi, Haruno-sama." He answered dutifully, jolting aback when I nearly snapped my head off from the speed of which I turned to stare at him in disbelief. In his defense, a small part of me wanted to lash out of him for letting the older bastard in and I'm sure he sensed that from the way my eyes burned into his face. But the more sensible side of me knew it would be rude to deny the older bastard access when Sasuke came and went as he pleased and was probably the one who invited him along.

Now why would Sasuke do that to me? Because he's my best friends. And what do best friends do? Conspire against one another and jumped at every chance you ruin each other's lives.

"The hell does he want." I murmured more to myself than anybody else, climbing the gate to get a better look for myself, a part of me hoping Shizune had dismissed them and was sending them on their merry way.

Although it definitely wasn't a hostage situation, I knew there was a chance the situation arising could get hostile. The last person on earth whom I ever expected to see in my doorway was Uchiha Itachi, Sasuke's older bastard of a brother. I may have personally known the Uchihas since I was a little girl, but that does not mean the relationship we developed has been all sunshine and rainbows.

To further prove that point, "Mr." Uchiha Itachi had 300lbs of pure muscle standing right beside him with a gun in his holster. The guy was a good two heads taller than the older bastard and the bastard was already a good two heads taller than me! Now, I liked a good fight as much as the next guy (girl), but I didn't feel like testing my luck with a guy who was paid to eliminate every and all threats made towards the Uchiha—not yet, anyways. So, I did the responsible thing and made a mental note to postpone the death match.

"Did he say what he wanted?" I asked again, looking down to find my two gate guards in position to catch me in case I did something as stupid as fall.

Before they could answer, a high pitch screech in the sound of my name caused all three of us to wince, and the two guards to return to their posts. I mentally cursed myself for being reckless enough to be spotted while debating if it was still too late to pretend I hadn't heard her. I really could turn around and walk the other way, but I didn't want to starve for the next week.

Shizune stood in the space of my double door-way, looking prim and proper in her pretty dress with such a sweet smile on her face that you wouldn't think she had just cried out my name with a promise of death. Clearly, she wasn't too happy to have men double her size hovering over her when it was obviously my problem to handle—because who else would they stop by to see? Her dissatisfaction with the situation probably only increased when she spotted my pink little head on top of the gates, accessing the situation with half the mind to turn around and run in the other direction.

Uchihas, as a whole, were not the type of people I liked dealing with. Sasuke, I could handle because of intimate contacts and relationships—and years of experience. The other Uchihas were equivalent to distant relatives you hadn't talked to in years who like to come by every now and then and pick at all your flaws and mistakes, acting as if they were a tier above you. Geez, I wonder why we don't invite you to any of our events, Carol.

"These gentlemen are here for you." She hollered, her smile changing into one of those 'I want to keep up a good image while I shout at you, but what the hell did you do this time you brat' kind of smiles in her obvious demand that I get down and get over there to relieve her from the stress of dealing with said "gentlemen."

"If you'll climb down, Haruno-sama, I can open—" I landed on the other side before the guard could finish his sentence.

The only reason I could think of for Uchiha Itachi to come here in person was to send the official notice from his mother that I keep away from their precious little Sasuke-kun. Seeing that Fukagu wouldn't agree to it since he was the only person aside from Sasuke in the entire clan who liked me—and the second Uchiha I could say I actually liked in return—what was better than to send the next in line to send the notice, or threat, behind his back? It was an easy guess as to why Muscles came along with him. What were words compared to an obvious and physical threat?

Lord knows Mama Uchiha had being trying to separate Sasuke and I for years.

"Uchiha, Older Uchiha, and Muscles," I greeted after dragging myself up the driveway, the once innocent drizzle having soaked me to the bone from all the time I spent lingering at the front gates. I made an obvious effort to look pleasant and pleased to see them hovering over my caretaker, though my smile soured when I turned to look at Sasuke who immediately adverted my gaze. "What can I do for you on this cold, rainy morning?"

The fact that I was aware of how I stunk didn't do much for my mood or self-esteem, but the way Sasuke's brother had the nerves to size me up when I turned back from Sasuke made me want to slam the door on his pretty face without giving him the chance to explain himself. I had to give it to myself for maintaining my smile though, as I squeezed passed them to stand in the door—just in case the urge became too unbearable to deny.

You think I'd be used to it by now, taking into account my life-long friendship with Sasuke. But let me tell you that Itachi was on a whole new level of bastard that I had only been fortunate enough to encounter a handful of times. I talked to him enough to know that one, he doesn't talk very much, and two, he doesn't feel very much. I mean, I was fairly confident that if you combined all our conversations since I met the guy leading to that very moment, he may have spoken a total of only 60 words to me—and half of those being "hn." Furthermore, the closest thing to any emotions I had ever seen on his stoic face was that time he half-smirked, half-wanted-to-laugh because I punched Sasuke into his birthday cake at his sixteenth birthday celebration because he got buzzed off of the alcohol one of Itachi's friends bought and tried to bust a move on poor lil' ol' me.

So, feeling surprised, confused, and enraged was perfectly normal, considering I was almost shaking in my sneakers while he stood tall and emotionless in his freshly polished dress shoes with a pretty umbrella over his perfectly combed, brushed, and styled head.

"Haruno-san," Itachi greeted, the deep rumble in his voice taking me aback. Sounded to me like our last, one-sided conversation was a long, long time ago. Far too long that it gave his hormones enough time to act up and drop his voice a second time since he's been off to school.

Taking my hand in his, he bent down to kiss it in a way that made my heart drop to my stomach. That move smacked the smile right off my face and, in an instant, I jerked my hand back like he had tried to burn me, looking up at him with half-disbelief and half-disgust. I then looked at Sasuke, who was also horrified at his brother trying to also bust a move, with a promise that once we were done with this circus act, I was going to give him the time of his twenty-one year old life.

I wasn't sure what kind of girl he took me for—ignorant, shallow, naive, or all three—but I made clear that his bullshit facade of chivalry and civility was not going to work on me and all the buttering up that the Uchihas (okay, only two) had been using to get something from me was not going to work. Sasuke, it wasn't so threatening, but Uchiha Itachi does not go kissing hands of any passerby with a vagina to have a casual conversation. He wanted something. I wasn't sure I wanted to know what so whole-heartedly, but I was more incline to test my chances than to deal with anymore hand-kissing.

"What do you want?" The way I paused between each word made me seem more threatening than I intended to be, more so that it caused Muscles to straighten his back and he regard me through his dark sunglasses with some sort of seriousness—although his lip did quirk up into a smirk. Uchiha Itachi, however, wasn't fazed and the only noticeable difference in him was the way his dark eyes hardened as he dared to stare directly into mine.

"There is...something I would like to discuss with you, Haruno-san." He said, his eyes following my hands as I reached up to undo the hair tie.

How serious.

I smirked as I twirled the hair-tie around my wrist, looking up at him with a glint of amusement in my eyes before asking, in a mocking tone may I add "is your mother trying to get rid of me again, Sasuke-kun?"

Sasuke winced, knowing fairly well that when that particular suffix is used, he was in for a painful experience following suit.

"I assure you that this has nothing to do with my mother, Haruno-san." There was a sternness to Itachi's voice which should've frightened me—should've—but instead I simply nodded unconvinced while I waited to hear the rest of his explanation. Uchiha men were particularly close to their mothers. He glanced behind him to the empty dirt road which led down the forested slop to the freeway, likely keeping an eye out for the paparazzi who had or hadn't followed him here. "Perhaps it would be better to speak inside. This won't be a quick conversation."

I looked from Sasuke to Muscles and back at Itachi, debating with myself about whether I should simply slam the door in his face or truly consider engaging in an actual conversation with him. I could practically feel Shizune's nervous energy rolling off of her as she stood behind me, willing me to not do anything reckless and make me more enemies than I already already accumulated over the years.

"What's with Muscles?" I gestured to the bodyguard with my chin before I crossed my arms over my chest and started older Uchiha in the eyes. "If this really is just a matter of speaking, surely you wouldn't need 300lbs of muscle and a gun with you."

He smirked, that's right smirked, as he exchanged knowing looks with Muscles before looking back at me. "You have quite a reputation, Haruno-san. You must forgive me for wanting to be careful."

I grunted in response before stepping back and letting the three of them in. The rest was up to Shizune who show them to the dinner hall and prepare tea while I went upstairs to dry off and change. I had contemplated bringing Sasuke with me. Away from Muscles, I could proceed with my plan to beat him within an inch of his life before returning him to his brother's side. In the end I argued against it, deciding I could do that later and my priority now was to find out what the Uchihas wanted from me and get him the hell out of here.

The best I was willing to give him was black skinny jeans and a white, long-sleeved, v-neck shirt. It was casual, until I slipped on a pair of black heels on my way out of my bedroom, then it just became classy without all the try-hard effects. Sasuke's eyebrows hitting the ceiling was approval enough as I walked into the large dinner hall, once famous for hosting celebrations and dinners when my mother had been in her youth, but was now an empty white hall, borderline grey from all the dust that collected over the years. There wasn't much need for it lately. No one came out here as often as they once had and I saw no reason to invite them.

I sat down in front of Itachi instead of the head of the table like I suspected he expected me to, all the while running a towel through my hair to dry it from the rain. I poured myself tea and another for Muscles, who only eyed it when I slid it across the table to where he stood. I take it he wasn't used to being offered tea when guarding his client. How sad.

"Alright, Uchiha. What do you want?" I asked him from behind my tea cup, narrowing my eyes over the rim. He regarded me with an eyebrow quirk, and I guess something in my face gave away that I wanted to harm his person because that bodyguard of his shifted at the tension between us.

"I have a proposition for you, Haruno-san." He said evenly, staring me down with this intensity that almost shouted that he'd burn me alive if I refuse. I was starting to wonder if Mr. Muscles was actually a bodyguard or a hitman right about then.

"Of course," I set my tea down and furrowed my eyebrows at him, showing my obvious dislike for his formal language. "Go ahead and propose."

From the way Sasuke nervously looked between us, I already knew I wasn't going to be a fan of his older brother's proposition. They were a family of wealth and power, whereas all I had was pure sass and hard work. We lived in two different worlds which once clashed when my mother worked as a famous doctor and business was booming for her medical company, but it had been years since then and our relationship had severely strain since the decline—amongst many other reasons.

There were many rich and powerful families living in and around Konoha city. The Uchihas were and still are one of those said families, while we, the Harunos, were the has-beens. But, we had been long enough to be recognized on the streets, and therefore, we were still considered to be one of those families. It also didn't hurt that all the children of those families—the current generation rich people—were all friends. Rumor had it that the families planned the pregnancies to be around the same time in order for their children to be friends and strengthen company relations without all the old-fashion arranged marriages, which evidently worked.

The Harunos also didn't really fall into that category of contraception. I hadn't been conceived around the same time as Naruto, Sasuke, Kiba, or the others, but more along the lines of adoption. I figured I was probably chosen for my age, but mama said it was because of my 'unique' hair colour and dazzling green eyes. I believe that because of that choice there had already been a rift between us and them from the very beginning.

Uchiha Itachi watched my face carefully as he spoke. "I would like for you to pretend to be my lover."

At that, in the most unlady-like way, I choked on my tea.

He had got to be shitting with me. That thought, which I had originally planned to echo through my head, managed to slip it's way off my tongue because as I was recovering from my near death experience, I heard him say, "I most definitely am not."

I was at a loss for words. Actually, a loss for words was the understatement of the century and I probably would've stayed there and stared at him for a good hour trying to convince myself I heard wrong had he and his bodyguard not jump when they saw Tonton scramble into the room. Muscles had reached for his gun and I nearly threw the teapot of him after yelling at him not to "fucking think about it" which ultimately knocked me out of my heart-stopping astonishment.

The piglet, after hearing the distress and anger in voice, made a point to distance herself away from the giant and quickly into my arms. She cheerfully oinked about her adventures outside in the rain—or so I like pretend she did—as well as about the bath Shizune had given her subsequently. I humoured her, of course, nodding and smiling while I pet her and stole glances at Itachi's composed look of horror, which consisted of slightly larger eyes and a clenched strong, and sittable jaw.

If I had to be unwillingly, brutally honest, Itachi was a handsome man who could get any woman if he set his mind to it. Actually, from what I read in the papers, he was one of the most sought after bachelor. So, you couldn't really blame me fore being curious about why he would need someone to play pretend house with him when there were so many girls eager for the real deal.

"I'm sorry, but I don't follow." I told him, still attending to Tonton who was now silently enjoying her ear scratches.

"What is there not to follow? I've been fairly blunt with you, Haruno-san."

My eyes narrowed and my jaw clenched at the obvious insult. Trying to keep a leveled head, I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing and the feel of Tonton's short fur. The last thing this house needed was a fresh coat of blood splatted on the wall. Shizune would no doubt decapitate me from the mess. Sasuke eyed his brother carefully, somewhere in his dark eyes willing his kin to watch his ton and check himself for the obvious insult.

"Listen, Uchiha. Why does a guy like you need a girl to pose as his girlfriend for when it's clear he can take any girl he likes off the streets?"

You also can't blame a girl for thinking he could be gay, right?

"I do not associate with pro—"

"You know what I mean. Now answer me before I throw you and your bodyguard out of my house and mutilate Sasuke!"

That finally got Sasuke to turn his head and look at me, but whether it was because I threatened his existence of raised my voice at his aniki was debatable. But seizing the moment, I gave the dirtiest glare I could muster up; one that promised I'd make his life hell even when we're pruny, sprouting grey hair, and in wheel chairs—if we live that long, that is.

The older bastard stared at me in silence, and I hoped it was because he was rethinking his decision to propose something as stupid as that.

He really had to be shitting me.

If you really had to consider this request without any judgement for the reason behind it, you were still left with the question of: why me? Me, Haruno Sakura, whom is known all around town with such an unpleasant reputation vs. the many other lovely, lady-like women or even those just from wealthy families who would not mind making any business deals with the Uchihas. To marry their daughters in to one of, if not the largest, security corp would be a blessing sent from heaven.

"The reason behind my request will remain a secret until you cooperation is of certain."

I snorted again. He sure had a way of convincing me, didn't he. "Should I call a lawyer to read over the contract your hiding in the pants pocket of Mr. Muscles over there?"

Said muscular specimen shifted and smirked lightly at the compliment towards his sexual appendage.

"That won't be necessary. The contact is a single-page, one sided, and written simply for easy comprehension."

I bit my tongue to keep myself from lashing out at him for his blunt insult, and I tilted to my head to one side and blinked in a way to asked him if he wanted to try that again. And because I couldn't make use of my threat just yet—out of sheer curiosity—I growled, "You sound so confident that I'm willing you agree."

"I'm confident you will."

Trust an Uchiha to radiate arrogance. Too bad for me I forgot to wear my anti-Uchiha sunglasses.

A folded piece of paper slipped out of his inner pocket and in front of me, stating the terms and condition of the agreement, were I to agree to it. The whole time I had been hoping Shizune would give me some kind of sign to tell me if she thought I should even waste my time discussing this or just throw the man out. Sadly, she looked a little bewildered to give me a straight answer.

Judging from my reputation that has indeed made its way to the countryside, the fact that Itachi was willing to suggest such a thing sounded almost suicidal. I couldn't tell you if everything people had said about me was true, or whether or not having this reputation was a bad thing. All I could say was that Shizune was either questioning the intelligence level of a man who asked to be let into the lion's den or wondering about how close enough of a relationship I had with him that rumors about me didn't faze him enough to keep him away.

In the end I just blamed it on Sasuke. I mean, he knew half the things they said about me were over-dramatized, but his brother didn't have to know that. If Itachi did, he wouldn't have gone out of his way to see me, no less offer to make me his girlfriend!

"Twenty grand a month, if you agree." He said casually, linking his fingers together and leaning his chin forward just as I was reaching that part of the agreement.

Trying my best to remain impassive about the large sum of money, refusing to let him know that such amount swayed my decision, I shifted in my seat and took a sip of my tea to give me something to do. I had nearly forgotten how powerful the Uchiha family were, but spending my days with Sasuke who somehow loses his money to Naruto in these ridiculous bets and competition does that to a person overtime, I guess.

"Twenty grand a month as easy as that?" I whispered to myself, trying to organize my thoughts and figure out where any of this could possible go wrong.

Sasuke gave me this look of horror when he heard me, like he couldn't believe I was even considering this. Well, what did chicken-ass expect when he lets his brother waltz in here with twenty grand a month at his disposal? Twenty grand was a lot to come by, especially in a month for people like myself and he knew that.

"You will undergo training until I deem you acceptable. We will be spotted together by the paparazzi where you will make your debut in society as my girlfriend. I will bring you home to meet my parents and after a year of courting, I will propose. You will accept and if the situation calls for it, we will marry but divorce after I inherit the company." He said it like it was nothing, like this elaborate, thought out plan was a simply as ABC. He simplified it to "we will date, we will marry, and we will divorce." God bless the soul of the woman he does marry for all the right reasons in the future. "This project should take no more than three years."

Oh, like three years isn't a long time? Three years before this I was a high school senior with big dreams. By the end of his so called "project" I would be a close to half way through my twenties. Did I really want to gonna go through the next three years single—aside from my pretend boyfriend come husband?

"You will refrain from courting anyone else during that time. If news leaks that you were unfaithful to me, our plan would be put in jeopardy." He said coolly, pausing to stare into the depths of my soul. "In addition, no one must—"

"—know of our agreement. I will not tell anyone and I must deny all accusations that this relationship isn't genuine. Failure to do so is a violation and will result in a lawsuit. Got it." I finished, hurrying along to real questions. I stared back down at the paper before looking up at him, setting it aside as I took my turn to negotiate. "What does this training consist of?"

"You will be conditioned to act appropriately to compliment my public image and reputation. That means altering the way you walk, speak, eat, and present yourself to the public and my family."

Well that sounded like a grand ol' time, so much that I wanted to launch my pet pig at him after he said "conditioned." There was no denying that he was trying to turn me into a robotic Mrs. Uchiha, and as I said before, god bless whoever that may actually end up genuinely being.

"Okay, one more question." I said, and at this point, he probably already knew I was going to say yes. "Where do we draw the line in this fake relationship of ours, were I to agree?"

Too proud to admit he didn't know what I was talking about, he just sat there and waited for me to elaborate. I had half the mind to sit there and wait until he asked, but because I knew better than to wait for the day Uchiha men swallowed their pride—which would be the day after never—I gave first.

"I mean, where are our limits? I know what being a couple does require us to hold hand, kiss, and hug, but I want to know where the line is drawn."

While talking, I had the pleasure of occasionally glancing at Sasuke's face and watch it contort from disbelief to horror as the seconds passed. I nearly burst into a fit of giggles while trying to explain myself, my face twitching the whole time I was containing it inside me. For the record I was asking for the sake of my sanity, so I knew what to expect from not-so-feeling Uchiha if he dared try to frickle-frackle with me.

Itachi regarded me seriously, but then, oh my god, his face twisted into a smirk which made every hair on my body stand up. It was and never will be a good thing when any Uchiha smirks, trust me, quote me, write it down in a book and remember me for my famous saying on that.

"Eventually, you will have to move in to my apartment, but as far as intimacy goes, you are not obligated to engage in a sexual relationship with me. However, if such a time comes where the desire is mutual, you aren't restricted from making such advances either."

Did I not say it wasn't a good thing when Uchiha smirks? I had asked for my own safety and self-interest, but because he was an arrogant bastard who enjoyed taking advantage of these types of situations, he decided to make me feel like a pervert for asking such an obvious question. I was just about ready to test my chances with Muscles and launch myself across the table to choke the bastard with his ponytail and ask him to repeat the last part again, but with the blood rushing to my face from frustration and annoyance—not embarrassment, mind you—I didn't want to test my coordination.

So I sat across from him and blushed like a friggin' tomato that I swore if Sasuke wasn't too busy staring at his brother's subtle, flirtatious advances with his mouth wide open, he would've tried to eat my face. But before I could digest the fact that Itachi had flirted with me, he switched back to his usual self and continued to talk about our business boundaries—the real thing I was asking about, may I add.

"With anything company related, I prefer that you knew as little as possible, considering it to be a private matter under every other circumstance. But since you are bound to be asked for your opinions and thoughts by the press as our relationship progress, I will educate you on what you need to know when the time calls for it. However, allow me to make one thing clear: what I do with my spare time and what you do with your spare time is none of your business or of my concern. When it comes to privacy, if it doesn't jeopardize our plan, it is none of each other's business and intrusion is suggested against."

I stared at him blankly, and by blankly, I mean I just sat there, looking in the general direction of his body, and saw nothing. I was stunned, but not disappointed in the least.

"So, in other words, don't come crying to you when shit gets rough and don't go snooping through your life, correct?" I smirked, liking our arrangement thus far. "And I can get high and shitfaced drunk, and even rob a bank all I want to as long as I don't get caught and it doesn't ruin whatever image you're trying to give me? As an example, that is."

He nodded stiffly, tugging a wider smirk out of me as I straightened from leaning on my hand while idly petting Tonton and stuck my hand across the table.

"You've got yourself a girlfriend, Uchiha." I said it with confidence, and maybe he saw it too because as he extended his hand to shake mine, he smiled. I don't mean smirk, but actually smiled, and to be honest, I didn't know which one was creepier. "Congratulations."

A smirk meant the Uchiha was up to no good, but a smile…I think it meant he was pleased that I was agreeing to hell for three years; that it meant they had something terrible, absolutely sinful planned. A smile of a psychopath.

Or that he was just happy that I agreed—and maybe, just maybe, I was a bit over-dramatic with my assumptions.

He handed me the pen to sign my contract and as he tucked with the pen and paper away, he said "perfect, training starts now."

* * *

**It's been a while since I've written, especially in first person point of view, so I'm a little rusty, haha!**

**All comments and criticisms are widely accepted and appreciated.**


	2. II

**II**

* * *

As he rose from the table, it was evident that he wanted me to follow. However, I just sat in my seat and stared at his back, waiting for him to realize that I was waiting for an explanation. It wasn't like I didn't know what he meant, I just hadn't anticipated that "training" would ensue right away. I may not be like the majority of Konoha women with my bad reputation, but a girl still needed time to digest that fact that she signed onto, in essence, a marriage contract with a reward of twenty grand per month.

"What?" I growled when he didn't take notice of my absence, and he slowly turned to look at me, his eyes narrowed as they stared down to study me. If I had thought it would affect his answer, which at the time I clearly didn't think it would, I may have tried to look angry or disapproving instead of just wearing my stupefied expression.

"This is what you agreed to, Sa-ku-ra-san." He told me in a somewhat mocking tone which became very clear when he said my name—almost as if he was rubbing a victory in my face. "You should've known what you were getting into when you started growing your hair."

He had a point if he meant that it was because I signed the contract without specifying when it would be effective, but with my hair he did not. My jaw twitched and I turned to Sasuke who had this look of fear on his face—though I'm sure betrayal was mixed in there somewhere—as he stared at his brother.

"Listen here, Uchiha. I did not grow my hair for you, and if I decided to cut it I—"

"Would be violating a condition of the contract." The older bastard finished, stuffing his hands in his pockets while raising his chin and giving me this authoritative stare as well as an easy opening for me to uppercut his jaw to the moon. "You agreed to dress and style your hair to my liking; I like your hair long and you keep it that way unless I say so."

At this point, my jaw just went slack and I had this overwhelming urge to take two chairs and chuck one at Sasuke and the other at Muscles, then take the twenty foot long dining room table and use it as a bat to smack the fucking Uchiha through the wall and off my property. But again, he did have a point—maybe—he just didn't need to be an ass about it.

This "point", however, didn't stop me from grumbling as I stomped over to him, my hands in a fist to emphasize that I didn't appreciate him pushing my buttons this soon.

"Where are we going?" I grounded out, wrapping the leather jacket Shizune handed to me to protect myself from the October air.

Itachi glanced over as he walked out the door, and I could only assume he was contemplating on whether or not to tell me before he concluded with a "you will know once we get there," which translated from Uchiha talk to "shut up and just get in the car."

I shit you not that two minutes into this thing and I was already having my doubts, not that I was already wary of anything concerning this family in the first place. It wasn't that I thought I couldn't handle all this bastard for the next three years, it was just that the more I get to know—or not know—about what was going on, the more I began to think he was trying to kidnap me. Again, I still wasn't a hundred percent sure if Mr. Muscles was a hitman or a bodyguard. The only thing that somewhat assured me of my safety, though I would never tell him in a million years, was Sasuke. Knowing him and Naruto, they would pull some illegal stunts that would make their mamas cry before they let anything happen to me, and I couldn't say those feelings weren't mutual.

But just to make sure I was extra safe, as in I had a convenient way of tucking and rolling out of a moving vehicle, I called "shot gun" and made a beeline to Sasuke's passenger seat.

"I can't believe you conspired against me with your brother." I said once I got inside, watching in my side mirror as Muscles opened the door for the Uchiha who apparently couldn't make use of his hands and frowning in the process.

"He didn't want to say anything until he felt the time was right." Sasuke muttered, surprisingly reaching over to strap my seatbelt before leaning back to pull on his. It became clear that it was out of his brother's interest to not lose his one-way ticket to fortune than it was Sasuke's concern for my safety when I saw him glance up in his rear-view mirror. Was I all that hurt that Sasuke didn't care about my safety in a moving vehicle? Not really. He knew hell would freeze over before I let myself die from his horrendous driving.

Sasuke never got over his big brother complex, and don't believe him if he says otherwise. It was evident in the way he was slightly tense around Itachi, watching him intently as to prepare for an order or a fight. Take his car for example: no doubt that all the heir had to do was just tell Sasuke he wanted to drive his car and Sasuke would already be reaching for his keys while, no matter how much Naruto or I begged him, we always end up in Naruto's beaten up pick-up truck that was so rusted I couldn't tell you what colour it was originally.

"And what makes now so right?"

"You ask him."

Which reminded me.

"Hey Uchiha," I called, turning around with the very restrictive seatbelt almost choking me out. "You never told me why you need a fake girlfriend. I get it's a publicity stunt, but why couldn't you get yourself a real one or wait for a real one to come along?"

When the door finally shut and Muscles made himself comfortable, Sasuke kicked the gear into drive and began my decent into the fiery pits of hell.

If it was one thing I disliked the most about conversing with Uchiha men—though I can't speak for the women since I had little experience with them except Mikoto who had been an absolute sweetheart to me—is the way they pause to think without giving others the idea that they're doing just that. The normal "well…", "um…", or "you see…", which indicates that one is thinking, was obviously something foreign to them because they leave you standing there with either the need to repeat yourself or feeling ignored.

Thank Heaven for small mercy that I've been graced—if you can say that—with a friend like Sasuke, and he's done it enough times that I knew Itachi was forming his words. So I sat patiently in the front seat, only speaking to the guards at the gate to tell him that if anyone asks for me to tell them I wasn't home and it was none of their business where I went.

As Sasuke drove down the dirt road into the sparse forest which led to the freeway, I thought he would drive us into the city when he actually turned in the opposite direction. A part of me wanted to ask him what the hell he was doing, but remembering how Itachi flatly refused to tell me where we were headed, I just sat back and allowed these men to kidnap me. The farthest we could get driving in that direction was the ocean—which was only a day's drive away. So, unless there was some underground base where they kept poor, unsuspecting girls or they were planning to dispose my body there, I knew they weren't taking me anywhere far.

"In order to inherit the company, my father's advisors and councilmen have decided that their chairman should marry before ascending to that title."

In all my silent panic, I had forgotten that I asked Itachi a question and just about jumped out the window if it wasn't for my seatbelt.

I had already pieced together that it had something to do with inheriting the company, taking into consideration that he planned to "divorce" me after he inherited it. But…

"Now, why me? Why purpose this now when you have known of this policy all along and could've done it earlier or later?" I asked, looking over at Sasuke to see if he would give anything away before back at the dampen road ahead. I mean, weren't chairmen usually kind of old anyways? Itachi could at least wait until he was in his 30s to inherit this company.

I thought Sasuke made mistake with his turning signal, which was ticking for him to turn into the trees, when suddenly—well, I guess not actually suddenly—he did just that.

"You and Sasuke have been friends since you were infants, meaning we have seen enough of each other that it would be logical that a romantic relationship would unfold." Amazingly, I was able to hear Itachi over the rocking of Sasuke's car and him growling under his breath as we made our way up the unstable dirt road. I wanted to retort with "hardly" and that we've only had a handful of legitimate conversations, but because he has yet to explain the timing, I stopped myself in case my answer would change his mind. "And you're aware my father's sick, Sakura."

In other words, he was dying. I couldn't help at the time but to glance over at Sasuke and think back to how Itachi said this shouldn't take more than three years. Obviously, he wouldn't hope to divorce me until _after_ the company was inherited, which only means Fugaku time was coming way, way sooner than anyone had originally expected.

Scratching the back of my neck in guilt, I understood why Itachi waited until he made certain of my cooperation before revealing the reason behind his request. Not only would it have been the scandal of the century if I had said "no" and known that to inherit the company to be his reason, but now I was having way more doubts about getting involved with a family around the time that they were expecting a loss of a family member. Sure, Sasuke and I were best friends and I would be expected to support, comfort, and attend the funeral when it came up, but being involved in _this way_, as a _daughter-in-law_, was much too personal.

Maybe this should've fallen under the category of "mind your own business" because now I felt like I was fucking intruding. In a way, he was also saying that he trusted me with something I wasn't at all comfortable with being trusted with. Not that it mattered now, I guess.

I guess I was frowning a shit ton since, in the process of steering the car down the path that barely had any room for his car, Sasuke reached over and placed a hand on my knee, giving it a playful shove that knocked me on my side. It should've gotten me to bounce back and punch him in the arm, but all I did was grumble at the fact that my best friend was a douche bag and his father was dying.

As we were pulling up the cabin, all I could think about was how much it really did look like something out of a horror movie. These three men brought me into the middle of the woods, where there was a cabin in front of a cold lake, which was surrounded by fog. I mean, if that didn't scream "I'm going to kill you, decapitate your body—maybe drown you somewhere in the process—and scatter your remains," I didn't know what did. Obviously, that wasn't really happening, but trust the Uchihas to complicate and over dramatize things.

Really? He really couldn't tell me he was taking me to his friends' cabin? Okay, sure.

I was so lost in my imagination at the time that I hadn't realized everyone got out until all the doors around me slammed shut and my whole body tensed. Only when Muscles—I seriously still didn't even know his name—proceeded to open my door did I spring to life. There was no way I was about to let myself be pampered like a certain Uchiha who could take over a company, but couldn't even open his own damn car door.

Hesitantly, I let my feet touch the ground, as if the whole floor would collapsed from right underneath my feet—magically sparing the man who stood a mere metre away from me—and I'd fall right into an underground dungeon where they would do unholy things to little me.

There was a tiny chance that I was being over-dramatic, again, but I'm was sure that any girl in my position would've reacted the same way. Okay, maybe scratch that. Any girl in my position would been swept off her feet at the idea of being in a car with the two Uchiha brothers and a big, muscular man.

Taking a deep breath, I walked up the front wooden porch, uncharacteristically sticking closer to Sasuke as Itachi opened the door. I didn't miss the way he glanced at me with slight annoyance for, no doubt, the hesitation and reluctance I had, and my lips twitched to bare my teeth at him in disgust.

Sasuke began nudging me forward when I guess I didn't move forward quickly enough to the door Itachi had just opened. I braced myself for whatever laid beyond—torture machines, blood, dead bodes—but I was surprised to see myself in a cozy looking cabin, only to be surrounded by men.

That was when I really got suspicious and started to wonder when "training" really involved. Suspicious, and maybe a little excited if I had to be completely honest.

"Eh? Is that Sakura, yeah?" The blond one exclaimed from the other side of the kitchen island, his hands dropping the rag and plate as he leaned over and stared at me wide eyed. "You were this small the last time I saw you!"

He held his hand to his chest, just below his armpit, demonstrating the height I may have been when I was, say, thirteen.

You know when you're reunited with relatives you haven't seen since you were in diapers and, therefore, have no recollection of who in the hell they were so you end of standing there like an awkward little turtle while they ramble on about how much you've grown and hope that they mention something familiar? That was one of those moments. And while I did my part of being the awkward little turtle, he didn't do so well in the relative department and dropping me a couple hints about who he was.

I made no effort to hide my confusion, and I rose my eyebrow and looked from Itachi, Sasuke, and back at the stranger who was too excited to see me for someone I had no memory of.

"We've met?" I asked, inclining my head for an answer.

He chuckled sheepishly, scratching the back of his head as he grinned. "Briefly. 6 years ago, yeah."

That was a _long_ time ago.

"Must've been on hell of a brief meeting that if you remember me so fondly." I snorted, crossing my arms over my chest.

"The pink hair helps jog the memory." He gestured to his own hair, and, in the process, self-consciously making me reach up to touch mine. "And who could forget a girl who told me to 'catch' before she threw her friend off his balcony, then came outside and dragged his body away by the ear."

Well, Naruto and I had much worse ways in sneaking/kidnapping Sasuke's grounded ass from his own home but that definitely sounded like something I had done. However, I still had no idea who this guy was, save for the boy who I threw Sasuke onto when I was fifteen years old because he got caught doing something stupid with Naruto. So, to save myself the awkwardness of his name, I just smiled like I remembered and nudge Sasuke in the ribs at the fond memory.

"Ah, so you've told her, Itachi." The redhead to my left asked. He sat comfortably at the dining room bench, sipping on the contents of his cup as he regarded my carefully over his newspaper.

I turn to see Itachi give him a curt nod, hands in his pockets, as he leaned against nothing like the Sasuke did. Actually, this probably explained where this annoying stance came from.

The boy who I threw Sasuke onto—which I continued to reference him as until I learned his name later on—looked frantically between Itachi, the redhead, and I. His blue eyes widen in what I thought was shock before he hunched over and laughed into the marble island top.

"That's who we're turning into your window display wife?" I found my face contorting into disgust at the term. "This is going to be interesting, yeah."

Tilting his head up enough to let his eyes peak over his arm, I saw them crinkle in amusement, but also caught a glimpse of mischievousness that I didn't like.

"Sasuke, you're free to go."

At Itachi's dismissal, I looked at my best friend almost desperately, my eyes silently begging him not to leave me there to die, and for once in his life, he actually understood what I wanted because he gave me a look of horror. But as he opened his mouth to protest against his brother, he snapped it shut and his eyes narrowed in what soon became a glaring contest with Itachi. With that, I knew all hope was lost because the bastard already had a hard time winning against Naruto for crying out loud, there was no way he could win against the most-bastard of them all.

So, when he sighed in defeat and told me to call him when I was ready to leave, I couldn't say I wasn't at all surprised by the loss.

"Sakura-san," Itachi called, pulling a chair out from the head of the table and setting it against the window. "Have a seat."

I eyed him untrustingly, but I did as I was asked.

The cold seeped through the glass and into the small corner of the room, but with all the adrenaline pumping through me, my body felt warm, nearly hot, as I looked up at the men who stood around me. The boy who I threw Sasuke onto rushed around the kitchen to clean up the plates, on the other side of the island, and I assumed it was out of excitement so he could quickly come join Itachi and the redhead in staring down at me with disinterest.

I cocked an eyebrow as I looked up, ready for some answers or at least some sort of instruction as to what they wanted me to do and how they wanted me to do it. I mean, it couldn't be that hard to be prissy and prim like an Uchiha. You just had to walk like you owned the world, talk like everyone owed you something, and wear this face of indifference and superiority all the time. I can do that. Hell, Naruto and I had been doing that for years when we felt like pulling on a "Sasuke" and laughing about him behind his back.

"I see you've convinced her to grow her hair out." The redhead said, and my jaw slacked as I half-smirked, half snorted. "It'll be easier to work with now."

I looked from the redhead to Itachi as realization dawned on me. He's had this thoroughly planned for god-knows how long, and I wish it was as romantic as it sounded just now, but it was actually a little alarming and creepy. To think that this indifferent man had thoroughly and thoughtfully planned out how he was going to make me his "window-display wife" for the last, say year, sounded possessive in all the wrong ways. If this made news, Uchiha Itachi would be branded as 1. A psycho and 2. Creeper of the year.

I mean, it was a little flattering that he had chosen me out of the many other available women, but I really didn't feel my self-esteem points raising in anyway. Also taking in how unfazed I was at Itachi's supposed handsome, good-looks, and radiation of masculinity—which I have yet to see ooze from anyone but Muscles over there—I didn't find this flattering at all.

I watched as the redhead disappeared up the stairway and glanced over to see Muscles laying on the sofa in front of the fireplace. It brought upon questions in my head, such as where the hell was I and what in hell's name was going on here, but I sat quietly to observe and hope the answer would come to me in time.

The answers came no later than two seconds afterward in the form of Itachi as he made himself comfortable on the furthest side of the table to carefully watch the scene play out.

"That man was Sasori," He said, using his chin to gesture to the stairwell where said Sasori disappeared while keeping an intense, watchful eye on me. "He will be your stylists."

Things were beginning to look like something out of "The Princess Diaries" and I nearly cringed at the idea of plucking eyebrows and waxing my entire body. The one positive thing about this whole idea was, if Sasori did his job right, I would come out looking like a million dollars, find myself a rich husband who actually loved me, and I wouldn't need Itachi's dirty 20 grand a month. This could really be my one way ticket to freedom and it all rested in the hands of the redhead and how skilled his was with scissors.

A girl could dream, couldn't she? Though mama would probably lose her shit if she found out I allowed myself to be in the position of depending on a man to take care of me. She worked way too hard, yelled too ferociously, and instilled too much self-respect to let her daughter grow up like that.

"This one is Deidara," The blond boy sat down on the bench in front of me and smiled. "He's going to be your…publicists and bodyguard."

My eyebrows furrowed at the idea of a person following me around all day, and my lips twitched into an arrogant smirk.

"I don't need a bodyguard." I stated indefinitely, crossing my arms over my chest in reusable of any other proposal.

"Oh, trust me. With all the people who are going to be swarming you, you will, yeah." Deidara said it hopefully, his face lighting up with amusement as he looked me straight in the eye. He must've thought his enthusiasm would be contagious, and maybe it would've been if I hadn't been friends with Naruto for long and became immune to this sort of persuasion.

But my smirk dropped, my eyes narrowed, and I flipped my slightly dampen hair to the other side of my head—just for dramatic effect—before growling "I can handle myself."

My explanation and argument shouldn't have been unnecessary, considering the fact that Itachi had taken his bodyguard and Sasuke when he came over to see me. That alone spoke for how capable I was in protecting myself; a grown man had to take two other grown-ass men to come talk to little me. My reputation should have had been explanation enough.

"Haruno, you agreed to this."

But yet, Itachi was insistent that I took Deidara on as my bodyguard, which I didn't understand. It wasn't out of pride or the much known fact that Haruno Sakura could handle herself that put-off the idea of having a man guard me 24/7, but the fact that there was a strange man around me 24/7. The paparazzi alone was bad enough with snapping pictures of me here and there, and writing up half-truths and full lies because of their misinterpretations of what was really happening, but a bodyguard was in a different level of being all up in my grill that I did not appreciate.

"No. I agreed to be your 'window-display wife' and conform to looking and acting like one." I bit out, turning my glare from Deidara to Itachi. "Not have a strange man follow me around all day, Uchiha. What happened to our agreement on privacy?"

Sasuke may not be able to win a glare-off with Itachi, but I can. In the midst of glaring into each other's souls, Muscles had risen from his nap to observe the safety of his client, and Sasori had returned with multiple pairs of scissors and styling tools.

In the corner of my eye, I saw the way Sasori cautiously set down his tools as to not disrupt the atmosphere and Deidara glances up at him in amusement. One small encounter with Deidara and he knew I was capable of fending off paparazzi and bad-guys who could attempt to kidnap me for ransom, and Itachi had how many? Clearly, it should've been him that I punched in the face at Sasuke's birthday party, maybe then he would agree that any man who crossed my path would face a hotter hell than anything any bodyguard could attempt to give him.

"Very well," He conceded. "He'll be guarding you from 8 in the morning until 9 in the evening and will come to your aid, at your call, any time after that."

I played out the timing in my head, trying to rearrange my life around the 13 hours of watchfulness. 9 may have been too late for my liking, but pushing for specific time would be too suspicious and alarming for the Uchiha, even if he had agreed to mind his own business.

I also had various means of sneaking away from Deidara, many of which I developed over years of sneaking out of the house from mama and Shizune. And when facing the fact that Deidara was not a mother, or a women, and didn't have that very scary sixth sense that even I have when it comes to Naruto or Sasuke, sneaking away from him when I needed to would be twenty-thousand times easier.

Also, if he was my bodyguard and was working for me, dismissal of service would most-likely be at my disposal unless Itachi instructed otherwise.

"Also, I won't be following you around until you're properly trained anyway, yeah. So you have lots of time to hide all your dirty secrets." My soon to be bodyguard said playfully, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively in a way that made me roll my eyes. "And I'm also not obligated to tell the Uchiha anything you do, so any secret you have is safe with me, yeah."

I kept myself from raising an eyebrow at the title which he used to refer to Itachi, and the only thing that ran through my mind at the time was he then seemed bearable. Unlike Muscles or Sasori who seemed to be more than willing to abide by Itachi's every wish and command, Deidara had a sort of backbone and carefree personality to him that distinguished him from robots.

"Fine, I guess I can live with that." I sighed, devising a plan to make this training last at least a year so I can keep as much quality time to myself as possible.

Deidara shot me a wicked grin that only deepened Itachi's glare—towards me or Deidara, I didn't really know—and nodded in satisfaction.

It clicked with me then that Itachi and Deidara were an older, more bastard-like version of Sasuke and Naruto and for a second, a very small second, I thought to myself that I might enjoy their company.

And by company, I meant rivalry.

I watched Sasori carefully as he pulled out three different pairs of scissors and a comb. There was something menacing about him that I couldn't quite place my finger on, but I made a note to snap his wrist in half the second I felt his sheers cutting too close to the skin of my neck. I wasn't taking any chances that this wasn't an attempted murder in disguise. I still had Mama Uchiha to worry about until further notice.

"Can I start?" Sasori tested his scissors for emphasis before nudging the blond at least another meter away from me, and I shit you not, I saw calculations flash before his eyes as he studied my hair.

"Depends." I grunted, pilling all my hair to the back and untucking the stands stuck between me and the back of the chair. "Are you going to finally cut this damn thing off?"

He paused momentarily, scissors in hand as he looked from me and Itachi in confusion. "That's not what we agreed on, was it?"

"No, Sasori." The Uchiha sighed, resting his face in the palm of his hand like he's had so hard up until this point. "Just a little off the bottom and add multiple layers into her hair—whichever way makes it easy for you to style in the future."

He nodded before ushering me and chair forward to begin transforming me into the perfect Uchiha Barbie. I had been a little surprised that he hadn't made any mentions at the colour of my hair, seeing that most hairstylists do when they first begin to cut my strangely-coloured hair. But guessing that he's been friends with Deidara, there was a chance that I may have briefly met him 6 years ago as well.

At that age, no one really gave a fuck about who anyone was unless you were a part of their squad. So, unless your name is Sasuke, Naruto, Ino, Neji, anyone from my friend and former friend group, I didn't do so much as glance in your direction and had we crossed paths before, my self-centered ass really couldn't tell you now.

I clicked my tongue in annoyance and pulled out my phone as Sasori did begin trimming the ends of my hair. I spent too much time dealing with the annoyance of tangled hair that got in and caught on everything, just to find out it was because it was what the older Uchiha wanted.

"Hello, Sasuke?" I chimed sweetly once he picked up. "You can come pick me up now. I'm ready to leave this mess of a circus."

"Put your phone away, Haruno."

* * *

**Hey guys, I'm so sorry it took so long for me to update. I had the first chapter written up years ago and decided to publish it because I began getting an idea about where this story was headed, but then realized I hadn't thoroughly worked out my ideas yet.  
**

**Thank you to all of those who reviewed in the last chapter!**

**All comments and criticism are widely accepted and appreciated. **


	3. III

**III**

* * *

In the weeks that followed my life changing decision to be Itachi's pretend boo, I found the "training" that came with that decision to be livable. Alright, maybe that was a lie. I actually found training with Sasori and Deidara more enjoyable than I would like to believe.

As I found out during the couple weeks of spending nearly five out of the seven days with them, Sasori was actually very passionate about the work he did. He took great pride in cutting my hair and dressing me up that sometimes it came with a very wicked and obsessive vibe. Deidara, on the other hand, was the biggest idiot I had ever met—save for Naruto—and, in other words, was an absolute joy. Not only was he definitely not a hard-ass when it came to my training as Sasori had been—criticizing my clothes, how I styled my hair, or the way came tumbling down every time I wore anything with heels—but his energy and enthusiasm made it easy to deter him from training to dicking around.

You could believe my jaw nearly hit the floor when I heard that, officially, he and Itachi were friends. Then again, it was also surprising that Naruto and Sasuke were best friend, but on a less, exceptional level. The two idiots, that I have been cursed in calling my best friends, were practically forced into being that way by their parents since they were in diapers. Deidara and Itachi, however, met in University.

Or fought, er, kind of the same thing.

Itachi, who had been taking business, first became friends with Muscle—whose name I learned to be Kisame. Kisame was in the Police Foundation, training to be an officer, and was friends with Deidara on the side. Deidara and Sasori had already been friends, coming from the same high school and all. Deidara was bouncing around in the arts department, taking theatre, sculpting, anything, you name it, and he probably had his fair share of classes and the girls in those classes. Sasori had done the same, but decided to stick with the esthetician department, leading him into hairstyling and make-up.

Now, how did these unlikely idiots become friends? Well, Itachi being Itachi—with all the arrogance and "grace" that comes with being Itachi—was famous at the University. I wish I could say that it was for something cool like being the one to throw the best parties, pull the best pranks, or hold the best pep rallies—anything that I could talk about at dinners with some sort of pride—but it was because he was the heir to the largest security corp. in all the Fire Country, if not the world.

The best part of this story, and it might have been because of the way Deidara narrated it, was when I found out that Kisame was a groupie. Now, if you were anyone else but me, he might just give you a one-two for even mentioning it, but you are not shitted when I say that he turned so red in the face he was turning purple. Kisame, so it seemed, was somewhat of a fan of Itachi just because of their relevant majors. He was thinking of applying at the company once he graduated, and what a better way to get in than to be friends with the heir himself?

I swear, I could hear Kisame giggling in my head for when he would spot Itachi on campus.

Now, where did Sasori and Deidara fall into this? Well, Kisame and Deidara met at the campus gym and one day, Big Groupie Kisame on his adrenaline-high decided that he was finally going to talk to Itachi. Poor Deidara was dragged along and, well, something sprouted between Kisame and Itachi after he tore Deidara and Itachi off of each other because the arrogant Uchiha couldn't keep his prissy, smart-ass remarks to himself.

Fast-forward a couple years later and Kisame was Itachi's bodyguard. Deidara was also a bodyguard but now also a publicist—I guess all the theatre classes made him an expert on posture, speech, and etiquette and audience—and helped Sasori on the side, and Sasori got his money from styling the various members of the Uchiha family.

Oh, and they all lived together in the middle of buttfuck nowhere because they liked the lake and the privacy. They were this mismatch group of friends who also worked for the Uchiha Bastard. As much as I would like to make it as bad as it sounded, to work for a person who was your friend, it was actually more rewarding than any other job you could've gotten with the Uchihas. For the very little amount they did, save for Kisame who fully committed to his job, they were paid extravagantly just because they were Itachi's friends.

Was that just Mikoto paying the boys to remain friends with her precious, spoiled little brat of a son? Who knows?

"What is the meaning of this?"

You couldn't really blame her either. It was bad enough being friends with Sasuke, but Itachi was on a different level of having a pole shoved up his asshole. It was only thanks to Naruto and I that Sasuke developed some sort of humour and understood the definition of "chill", but poor Deidara and Kisame came too late in the man's development that may Itachi's laughter rest in peace.

Spinning around in the inflatable ring, I saw the leach of the happiness standing on the back patio, glaring at both Deidara and I as if we were the most despicable humans on earth. I glanced down at the blond with the suggestion that we pretended to not have heard or saw him, and oh-so-casually paddle in the opposite direction and hide behind the mist until he went away.

Unlike the northern region of the Fire Country, Konoha was particularly known for its warm summers and cool winters. The temperature didn't reach as high as it did in Suna in the Wind Country, but it also didn't drop any lower than 10 degrees, at best. That made going to beach, the lake, or the cabin year round possible, something I came to really appreciate now that I ended up in the waters five out the five times I was at the cabin. Itachi, on the other, perfectly polished and manicured hand, didn't possess the same appreciation that I had.

Maybe the water was too dirty or he was too busy being rich to know how to swim—god, who knows. All I learned those couple of weeks was he was the exact same person I thought he was and he basically survived out of sucking the joy out of my life—save for the twenty grand I had yet to receive.

Deidara looked at me suggestively, nudging me back to shore with his foot to mockingly seduce my lover with the few things he taught me. I wasn't one for going out of my way to talk an Uchiha that wasn't Sasuke if I could help it, but who in the hell would pass up the opportunity to tease one? I will admit that it didn't stop me from cursing him as I paddled back to shore.

"You are supposed to be training, not goofing off." Oh yes, he was just the best at greetings too. "This is the fourth time this week that I have caught you in the waters with that fool."

Taking the towel that he didn't even bother to hand me, I wrapped it around myself before smiling up at him with some sort of pretend longing.

"Oh darling, I'm so glad to see you." I said in an airy voice, wrapping my arms around his neck and pressing every part of my body against him while mentally willed every droplet of water to seep through his suit. "There is no need to be fuss over my relationship with Deidara; you know we are merely friends."

I felt his body stiffen up like a virgin under my touch and I pulled back slightly to get a good at his face. Had I expected some sort of reaction, like a blush maybe? Yes. Did I get one? Hell to the no.

He stared down at me with irritation and a look the demanded I remove my wet person from his now slightly dampen one, but I only smiled.

"I know this sounds mischievous, but my heart tingles with joy to hear you jealous." I continued despite the lack of response while I twirled his tie in my hand. "I can't explain it, but it fills me with so much pride to hear you speak of me with such masculine possessiveness. It's, dare I say, sexy."

Had Sasuke been there, he would've also snorted like the two idiots who stood behind me, but alas, Uchiha Itachi was unamused.

I had pulled Sasuke to the side after they graciously returned me home from my first trip to the cabin, and asked him, in all seriousness, if Itachi was gay and I was his beard. Sasuke, for the life of him, couldn't even give me a straight answer despite how hard he tried to justify Itachi's supposedly heterosexual orientation. So, was I a little disappointed when I didn't feel something hot and hard poking at my thighs? Nah. He probably wasn't interested in me, anyways, or it was too small. God bless Mrs. Future Uchiha because hell knows the Uchiha would not accept any other sexual orientation but heterosexual from their men. Removing myself from him, I shot him a smirk before wrapping the towel completely around myself. His eyes traveled down to the wet stains on his crisp, probably ironed, shirt and back up at me with a silent scream of "how fucking dare you".

"C'mon, Uchiha. She's improved over the last couple weeks, yeah." Deidara insisted, gesturing to me while I oh so gracefully tried to dry my hair in the most snooty, aristocratic way possible. "Look! She stands like less of a man now!"

My eyes moved from the wall I had blankly been staring at, in my concentration to remove most of the lake water from my hair before I went inside, to stare Deidara down with irritation as well. Apparently, the way I had stood before was too manly for the Uchiha's taste. My shoulders were too broad, too square, and my feet—why the hell didn't they touch when I stood? At least at the ankles dear god, Sakura, you barbarian!

That had been the first lesson I was taught here, and that was the first and last time I argued with them about it because I learned that there was no point. This was that the Uchiha wanted, so it was their job to mold me into this Mrs. Uchiha whose every action apparently reflected her husband. Needless to say, mama would not have be proud of who I had pretended to become.

"And I walk like less of a man now too, right Deidara-kun?" I asked, the repulse obvious in my voice as I squeezed my legs together and waddled around the house porch to the front.

"Hey, I'm just doing my job, yeah."

"Suck my ass."

I could literally feel Itachi move his head to look at Deidara, his displeasure very prominent as he stared down at the blond who was supposed to not only fix my posture, but my potty mouth. The press and the elders of the Uchiha family would surely not respond well to "suck my ass" at conferences and meetings. If worse comes to worse, would it really be that bad that they died from shock?

"We'll work on that, yeah." I heard Deidara mumble in the distance while Kisame tried to suppress his amusement.

I was happy to see that the fireplace was on when I got inside. It may have been possible to swim in the waters without freezing to death, but the conditions weren't ideal. But Deidara and I continued to do it, and we would continue to throughout the official winter months if the temperature is, at a minimum, above 10 degrees.

"I laid clothes out for you in the guest room to change into, Sakura-san." Sasori stated from behind the kitchen island, in front of him that night's supper.

The imagines that popped into my mind were tight, straightjacket-like dresses, and those horrible, terrible things called "heels." Have I ever worn any of the two any other time before my training with Sasori and Deidara? Of course, for a maximum of one hour—two at best—before I tore the deathtrap off my feet. But one of the symbol of wealth and luxury was having the leisure to wear pretty dresses and high heels anytime I wanted, demonstrating the lack of rush and productivity in my life, or that I was so efficient that I am able to rush from appointment to appointment while looking good in my tasks.

"What? Why can't I wear my normal sweatpants and T-shirt? We're not going anywhere, are we?" I asked, my eyes tearing to Itachi as he walked through the door. He looked from me to Sasori with a raised brow, questioning what it was they were torturing me with—again—that made me burst out in passion. "Please, Sasori-senpai? I swear I'll come over tomorrow with heels on!"

If there was one thing most cannot resist—and I say most because it has yet to work on Itachi—was the lower-lip pout and doe-eyes. I didn't use this regularly, mostly because my natural-bitch face makes pulling this face out very tiresome, but as I had learned over those weeks was the three men were not as immune as the Uchiha. I couldn't say if it was because I looked cute as fuck, or because it was annoying as to how stubborn I was and their impatience made them give in.

Both ways, my feelings weren't hurt and I was getting my way.

Sasori glowered at me before shooing my off, which I decided to take as "do whatever the hell you want, brat."

As I stomped up the stairs like an excited elephant, I could vaguely hear him shout for me to shower and condition my hair and then the fifty billion things I was to do afterwards when I got out. No one had told me that my hair, which had grew out perfectly long and silky, needed about sixty different products in it to even be considered decent.

There was no way my hair needed conditioner, deep conditioner, serum, oil, and lord knows what else, to feel as good as it had been all those years that I wasn't using it. Though it would be a lie if I said I hadn't been touching my hair non-stop since Sasori poured the elixir of life through my locks—something I got shit for because I was making my hair disgustingly oily like it was my fault my body naturally produces oils to protect itself—but still, the time I had to spend to keep my hair this soft was ridiculous.

People weren't going to be judging me for my hair because bitch would lose her hand if she touched it, so this it was all pointless.

After showering and moisturizing my body and hair, I came downstairs with hair as soft and straight as the toilet paper god probably used to wipe his ass—just like Sasori wanted.

"Put a shirt on, man!" I had stopped half-way down when I heard Kisame growl, followed by what I thought was a slap on the skin with a wet shirt. There wasn't a day that Kisame and Deidara weren't bickering. Hell, there wasn't a day Deidara didn't get in it with anyone in the house. For a while, I felt worried that with him as my bodyguard, he would be attracting more trouble than protecting me from it. But then I remembered my relationship with Naruto and Sasuke and they shit they put me through in high school, that really, any shit that came with Deidara wouldn't be any different than what was my normal life anyways.

"This is my house, yeah! I can have my shirt off if I want to!" Deidara growled back and a smack, to what I thought was Kisame's skin, followed.

The larger man chuckled and then his voice dropped low is mischief. I practically felt the house shake with his wiggling, non-existent eyebrows as he purred "oh, is it because of Sakura-chan? Are you trying to seduce her?"

Silence followed his question.

"Are you trying to get me fired, you big oaf? Of course not, yeah!" There was a desperation in Deidara's voice that made me want to snort. Like there was a fear that he was to lose his job if Itachi was to take Kisame's suggestion serious, as if the man gave two fucks about my real love life. The only thing his money-loving self cared about was that he wasn't made to look like a fool if I were to be caught by the paparazzi in an affair. And I doubt that would be the case since Deidara was aware of our situation. "But you can't blame me if it happens though. Ladies love The Deidara."

You have to believe me when I say I did everything I could to hold in my laugh, but it came out as badly as the fart you've been holding all the way in to the girl's bathroom. I came down the stairs laughing, and gave Deidara a once over before slapping his abs that apparently made him so irresistible.

"Please, Deidara." I said, diverting my course to the dining table where I sat across from a very amused—or was it irritated—looking Itachi. "That body ain't shit."

"Oh, and I bet you've seen better, yeah?" He challenged, finally putting his shirt on from what I can only assume to be embarrassment and shame. I winked at him over Itachi's shoulder, and the pretend frown he had on turned into a dangerous smirk. "You little slut! All this disrespect and after everything I've done for you, yeah!"

I had concluded that Deidara was a fraud, and the only way he put've gotten through acting class was sleeping with the professor. Not only would I have probably given him three stars for his performances, had I been to them, but I wouldn't have thrown a fuck his way for how terrible his acting was. Mind you, he did know what he was doing when it came to me, but for himself—it's so tragic.

"I mean, what can I say? All the fellas love The Sakura." I sighed arrogantly, flipping my hair over my shoulder in the most dazzling way possible to only open my eyes to meet a very curious and intense stare from my future husband. I reached over I grabbed his one hand in both of mine, batting my eyes innocently as I said in an airy voice: "Isn't that right, darling? Even you have to admit that you were swept off your feet by my bad girl reputation."

In reality, I was sure there was nothing further from the truth. If anything, he should've been repelled by my reputation amongst the public in Konoha—many had came to be over the years. The many friends I once had in high-school, the friends who I had been friends with growing up, left because association with the Harunos wasn't good from the company and the reputation I was soiling.

Itachi only studied me; looking me up at down as if he was judging me for not denying Deidara's patriarch claim that I was a slut. But in all, he hadn't removed his hand from mine in disgust. He actually just glanced at my manicured hand briefly without even moving a muscle.

"You were right." He finally said, glancing over at Deidara. "She is improving."

I looked down at myself to see that I had instinctively closed my legs and relaxed my shoulders. I guess not being fed until you sit properly does that to a person—and by not being fed, I meant deprived of basic rights.

"Alright, boys, I get it." I released Itachi's hand and uncrossed my legs, purposely slouching in the laziest way possible and stuffing my hands into my pockets. "The way I stood, sat, and walked before was too confident for your frail male ego to handle."

I didn't miss the way Itachi's eyes narrowed at the basic attack in his ego, while Kisame and Deidara remained entertained by my intelligent conclusion that they were probably laughing out of nervousness.

"No, it wasn't feminine enough." The Uchiha Bastard said evenly, the challenge in his eye making it impossible for me to turn down.

"Oh, and who are you to tell me what is feminine and what isn't?" I said, shooting forward and coming face-to-face with his very stoic one. "I'm a female, that's how I stood, and that alone should be feminine enough, right?"

"I am the man who writes your paycheck every month."

Okay, maybe he had a point there. Giving into this contract was giving into patriarchy and capitalism and I should've known better than to challenge those two systems. But fuck me if I was going to not use my platform—my going to be platform because I have yet to make a better reputation for myself or appear in the press—to voice my opinions about the very unfair society we women live in.

Maybe the Uchiha women were comfortable in the oppression because they compensate for it with money, but Haruno Sakura was no Uchiha regardless of what my marriage certificate said in a year or two, give or take.

Mama had never given a fuck about it, though there were ways I was expected to sit and behave because I was to present myself in a respectful manner, but when it came to this lady-like business, she would've rather spat in your shoe than follow a man's command to sit the way he wanted her too. Hell, there probably wouldn't be a man by the end of the night.

"Whatever. That's how I was taught to stand during my martial arts classes, so forgive me if that was engraved into my mind after unholy amounts of push-ups had I not obeyed." I said matter-of-factly, my head shaking back and forth to emphasize on my sass.

If I had not known Sasori like I did, and if I had thought what he was going to say next was an attack on my person, I may have killed my stylist then and there and put a hole through the cottage wall. But to my chagrin, he hadn't a clue about the contents of his words and luckily for him and the rest who lived in the cottage, I didn't have enough embarrassment or anger to put a dent in the countertop.

"Ah, I thought it was jail." He deadpanned, turning around to put the chicken breasts in the oven as if he hadn't brought up the most offensive thing possible.

Itachi glanced over at his back warningly, while Deidara's and Kisame's face contorted to a mix of "what the hell is that smell" and "so fucking rude."

"Man…" Kisame clicked his tongue in annoyance, rubbing the back of his neck and looking down at a very clueless Sasori with disappointment.

I didn't want to hear Sasori ask "what," which would've been followed by either Deidara or Kisame dramatically explaining it to him and further discussing my time in prison.

The room felt like it was on a stand-still and I had half a second to change the subject before things got really awkward.

It wasn't a secret that I went to jail my last year in high school. In all honesty, I would've been surprised if there wasn't a soul in Konoha that didn't know that I had. For over two years, that had been the most talked-about scandal of the century.

It was talked about when I was put in jail, it was talked about when I got out, and the paparazzi basically documented everything I did afterwards to see if I was going to slip up and end up in there again. The amount of bullshit I read in those paper was phenomenal. How could someone pull so much shit out of their ass? What the hell did you eat? Who raised you?

It really was only a miracle that I didn't end back in jail because of the many times Naruto and Sasuke had to keep me from jumping any moving thing with a camera on it. There was so much anger inside me during those times. So much that mama and Jiraiya forced me into martial arts, a controlled environment where I could release my anger.

I couldn't say it worked out at first. I mean, I was still seventeen, ignorant, arrogant, and angry, that for the first week I came home with bruises and cuts from getting my ass kicked by the instructor. To this day, Sasuke and Naruto swore that if they hadn't enrolled themselves and kept me from sassing out instructor, I may have ended up dead after the first month.

Now, just because it was widely known doesn't mean I liked to talk about it. People didn't whisper in the street about me anymore, but I still got wary looks from those who didn't know the definition of "get the fuck over it."

"So, what's on the agenda for today?" I asked excitedly, to the point where my voice cracked from the sweetness I just vomited out in the "so" alone.

Kisame looked at my knowingly, his grey-blue eyes glancing back from Sasori to me in a mental debate on whether he should educate the redhead or spare me the awkwardness.

"Nothing. He just wanted to take a nap in peace." He grunted, using his thumb to gesture to silent Uchiha.

"I see." And with that the room drifted off to an awkward silence, which I had much more preferred over what could've been way more awkward.

"I'll be up in two hours." Itachi stood abruptly, striding to the stairs before turning to look at all of us warningly. "Do try to make use of that time, wisely."

And with that that his black-sock covered feet disappeared up the stairs where I'm sure he was going to hang up his wet suit and lay in bed while it dried.

Kisame plopped down right in front of me, and I knew, before Deidara even reached for the cupboard of alcohol and shot glasses, what the larger man wanted to do.

"Okay, Haruno, rematch?"

It was more of a challenge than it was a question, and he hadn't even given me time to answer before he started fulling the glasses with alcohol. The blond no longer joined in in our shenanigans, and I was two thousand percent sure it had something to do with the massive hangover he got from drinking with Kisame and I the first time around. From Kisame's huge body-mass which burned through alcohol quicker than his average size, and my experience from high school parties and drinking with my mother, the occasional drinker didn't stand a chance.

"You know you're never gonna win; I don't see why you keep on insisting on humiliating yourself."

But unlike Deidara, Kisame wasn't the type to learn from head-throbbing hangovers and countless breaks to the bathroom where he threw-up his gut that Itachi had even asked me to stop sabotaging his safety to get out of this contract.

"All I hear is a chicken…"

I took a shot before he could break out in the chicken dance.

"You say that every time."

* * *

Two hours, a rowdy meal, and one phone call later, Itachi came downstairs to witness the second part of our drinking challenge. With the alcohol running through our blood and interfering with the very basic motors and thoughts, Deidara had to remind us to continue with the arm-wrestling part of the challenge.

In a sober state of mind, Kisame would have had a greater chance of winning. That is not to say that I probably couldn't throw him over my shoulders or strangle him to death with the muscles in my thighs—but that was different. When it was purely based on muscle strength alone, Kisame would have a better chance of winning had he been sober. But intoxicated, what he could hardly hold his arm up straight or keep himself from falling asleep, my better-at-handling-alcohol-self had the advantage.

"I thought I had told you to use that time wisely." Itachi's voice could've been sounded through an intercom and none of us would've looked up. Even Sasori, who was usually uninterested in every social event or anything unrelated to make-up and hair, sat silently as he watched me about to win for the seventh time. "Kisame, how are you going to operate a vehicle now that you're intoxicated?"

The screen door creaked open and in came Sasuke, his face already twisted in annoyance. "I'm driving."

That was enough to distract Kisame, who had probably thought Sasuke could've been someone ready to do harm to poor, defenceless Itachi. My leg lifted to press the soft skin between his legs, making him wince and giving me the upper hand to slam his arm down.

"Ow, hey! That's cheating!" He growled, trying to take a swing at me which I easily avoided by leaning back.

"There were rules?" I gasped innocently, looking over to see that even though Sasuke managed to be amused by my antics, Itachi still had the ugly frown on his face. So, I did what any other person would do, run to him and cupped his ugly, weirdly good-looking face in my hand. "Come now, darling, who is out to get you? If you would like I could protect you."

Sasuke, who looked like he was about to vomit, had tried to shimmy his way between Itachi and I.

"Sakura…" He whispered warningly, as if he expected my intoxicated self to try to make a real move on his brother and lure the man to my bed.

You couldn't really blame him either. We've gone out drinking enough times that he knew how much alcohol it took me before I went on the prowl for some dick and at one time, he had been the prey. That didn't go over so well for us, since the minute Naruto found out, which was the next morning when he went over to Sasuke's place and found me naked in his bed, the boys broke out in what was one of their most seriously ridiculous fist fights of life.

It was only when I managed to make sense of the noise that woke me up did I hastily throw on Sasuke's shirt and pull the pair apart. In my groggy, hangover, mama-Sakura gotta protect my boys state, I didn't think over how it would look for me to wear one of Sasuke's shirts. Naruto stormed off and they didn't speak for a month, which made going out to lunch awkward and bandaging them up separately annoying. Sasuke and I, on the other hand, handled it much better than Naruto did.

The obnoxious blond was worried that this would mess up our trio, which, in short, meant he was just throwing a really big fit for a month, while Sasuke and I were just "meh." We shat together, ate together, bathed together, so it was only a matter time before we slept together.

Every now and then we would throw each other a flirtatious wink or a fuck for the stress, but obviously not in the last one and half years since his brother was like "oh no no no no no Sasuke. I call dibs."

Now, if I slept with Itachi, well, it would be a favour to both him and his mother. Uchiha Itachi got laid? Maybe he would lighten up after a really good orgasm.

"Relax, I'm not drunk." I slurred, which didn't really help but it did get Sasuke to back off a little. "That is drunk."

Like I said before, Kisame wasn't the type to learn. Now he was hunched over with his head in his hands, either because of the headache or he was secretly crying from losing once again.

"Hey, the muffins are done, yeah." Deidara said as his little blond head popped out from behind the wall, calling me to come over and handle all the baking needs like taking a fucking tray out of the oven was too hard or too womanly for him.

Itachi must've looked at me questionable because I heard Sasuke explain that "Sakura likes to bake when she drinks" after I had gone over to take care of it. You really couldn't blame him for questioning it. Would you really trust me in a kitchen with knives and the basic at-home murder kit at my will with some alcohol in me? The answer is yes, if you know me, and no, if you didn't which Itachi didn't.

"Yes sir, get some alcohol in me and I'll be the perfect house wife." I said cheerfully, dropping the tray on the counter before going over to pop open a bottle of wine. "Unless you get too much, then I'd be the perfect mistress."

With how far back Sasuke rolled his eyes, I swore the vessels which held his eyeballs in place should've snapped off. I still winked at him though, which only deepened my question as to why his eyeballs didn't do just that.

"Oh really? Where do I sign up, yeah?" Deidara whispered in my ear, hands on my waist as he shimmied himself against my backside.

Sasuke looked like he was about the throw a fit, and had Itachi not been in front of him with the aura of dominance and irritation which overpower his, Sasuke may have thrown himself over the counter and tore a playful Deidara off of me.

"Now, Deidara, you know I'm taken." I chide, twisting around and pressing my finger against his chest. "My boyfriend is standing right there and you don't want to anger him."

"But sweetheart, my love, you know I can take him out, yeah." He told me encouragingly, pressing my head against his neck as he rubbed my back soothingly in what was supposed to be a scene from his pretend soap opera.

"Like how you almost took him out in University?" I asked with desperation and hope, my voice cracking from the pretend tears that were supposed to stream down my face in relief that I could now be with my one true idiot.

"You know I worry about your choice in company sometimes, Sasuke."

"You're one to talk."

* * *

**Alright, so maybe I have two papers, a presentation, and notes due, but a lot of you sounded eager to see how the story would progress so I spent the last three days writing and editing this chapter. Also, temperature measurements are in Celsius. **

**All comments and criticism are widely accepted and appreciated**


	4. IV

**IV**

* * *

I hadn't realized that the relationships I made during my few weeks of training was far beyond professional until the day Deidara came by my home later on in the week. I naturally wasn't as accepting as I was welcoming, and by that I meant that despite welcoming Deidara as a new friend of mine, I had not accepted him as a close and personal one as I did with Naruto and Sasuke. There was substance to our friendship that I had not developed with Kisame, and the many many people that I have known for years. I meant that in a way that was deeper than swimming, drinking, and shitting on the very existence of the older Uchiha together.

To put this in perspective, there are a rare few that will ever reach that level of acknowledgement from me despite how many kids I had gone to primary, middle, and high school and shared birthday parties with. They were people that I barely glance at if, by the rare chance, that I wonder around town and we were to cross paths. Deidara, on the other hand, was approaching that level of friendship faster than most had in the past. It took Naruto and Sasuke and I years to come to this mutual level 100 of friendship—years and a lot of fights, sacrifices, and blood—but Deidara had already accelerated to level 20 within a month and was someone who I looked forward to seeing.

Such a lame explanation of levels, I know, but you know what I mean.

"Hey, Sakura-chan!" Said level 20 friend called from the driveway he had grown used the driving in and out of over the last two weeks, seeing that sometimes he would pick me up instead of Kisame or Itachi when they end up being held up by meetings in the office. "Wow, you ride?"

He found me as I was checking the brake pads of my bike in my garage, ready to spend what I thought was supposed to be my day off in the city running errands that I had neglected while I spent my nine to seven at their cottage with no means of transportation, and was then inwardly panicking that I misheard or confused the dates.

"Yeah, I was about to head out." I said offhandedly, putting away my tools and, being too consumed in my panic, did not acknowledge his amazement at my ability to ride a motorcycle. "Were we scheduled to meet today?"

Had I not been in such a hurry, I would've smiled at the similar reaction he had to Naruto when my other blond friend found out that I completely ditched getting my driver's licenses and substituted it for a motorcycle one during our junior year of high school. Since I was the oldest of the three of us, there was this ungrateful expectation that I would drive them around once I acquire that pretty little card with an unflattering picture of me a couple months ahead of them. To their dismay, I got a bike with only one backseat which made for very amusing Monday mornings when they fought over who would be my passenger for that week instead of being driven to school by their parents since limos had been banned from our High School entrance.

Nonetheless, they were still amazed that I was bold enough to ride.

I got my driver's licenses eventually, mind you, as it was evident by the truck sitting behind me in my garage, but nine out of ten times I preferred to get the most of my bike for the ten months of the year that it didn't snow.

Deidara's blue eyes sparkled just as Naruto's had and he was reduced to nothing other than glitter and amazement like the first time I had my first run in with an orgasm. When he finally noticed that I was staring at him with an impassive face which rivaled that of the Uchihas with my helmet in my hand, he finally composed all the mushy part of himself and became a functioning human being again to see I was in a hurry to leave.

"No, Sasori wanted me to come over to drop over some clothes for you, yeah." He ducked under my half-opened garage doors and came back with two bags of clothes—two bags of designers clothes which Sasori had fully intended to replace the "hideous", "average", and "painful" clothes that I have now. Or so he so politely puts.

"Oh, thanks." I said with as little resentment in my voice as I could muster out, and handed them to an ever fidgety Shizune who had been hovering over me all morning to make sure I went through all my procedures to make sure my bike 1. wouldn't blow up from under me, and 2. I wouldn't end up in a threeway collision.

That meant a lot of "are you sure?" and "what about?" All the I sent off with a "yeah", "sure", and "uh huh."

"So, where were you headed?" Deidara asked carefully, almost hesitantly as he probably assumed he had overdone himself when he nearly licked my handlebars when he thought I wasn't looking.

I guess it was a rare thing—as you can probably tell I pay very little attention to things that do not directly concern me—but Konoha was more or less very underpopulated with the motorcyclist population. I don't know why, now that I think about it, seeing that we could actually create more spaces for parking and roads if more people did switch up their means of transportation.

There was this closed-mindedness and rarity when it came to cyclists. Despite the cyclist friendly weather that was here ten out of the twelve months, people, who only fucking drove alone anyways, would prefer a five seat, large driving contraption that takes up half the road instead of a motorcycle which could edd in two or three more lanes both ways.

But you do you my friend. You just can't blame me for every time I meet a motorcyclist virgin that I would be annoyed with how up close and personal they got with my bike.

"Just out, in the town." I said, lifting the garage door up to meet the force of the storm that had not been there when I had started.

Maybe if you had seen the dumbfound expression I had on my face you would've laughed, but I'm sure there was such disinterest, despair, and disappointment, and the inability to express it all properly at once that my face contorted into a disinterest blank with a sprinkle of "fuck." The rain, as I had done so well to drown out until then, violently slapped against the metal of Deidara's car that I could almost hear it crying out in pain.

"Do you think it's safe to ride in this weather, yeah?" The blond muttered with an air of hesitation, no doubt from his inexperience with two wheeled motor vehicles in general.

My face soured immediately, staring at the muddy country roads I would no doubt slip and slide through before skidding on top of the puddles building up on top of the paved road. Did I want to test my luck with death that day? Well, I wasn't particularly in the mood to do so. Every other day, maybe, but not on days when mama was expecting me in one piece and would no doubt drag me back from the dead and beat me to death before she would face any sense guilt that it was her fault that I ended up under a commercial truck on the freeway.

"No, definitely not." I sighed, darkening the garage with one strong thrust of my arms as the doors closed with a very audible slam that was the only real display of my frustration. Of all days that it had to pour like God was crying for all the forsaken souls who have ever been so unlucky to deal with me, it had to be the day I had to myself. Deidara quickly followed as I returned back into the house, maybe because he didn't realize he could just lift the garage door and let himself out, maybe because he cared for wellbeing and waiting on to hear a better solution to my predicament, who knew? I was only grateful that he did in the end. "Do you think I could call a cab?"

Shizune, having forgotten the clothes at the door when she was overcome with fear that I would ride out in this weather, stared at the road thoughtfully before saying "would that be too risky for the paparazzi to follow?"

One would think that having encountered them as often as I have that I knew better ways to avoid them by now. But seeing as there were only so many roads leading in and out of Konoha—and only being able to utilized one from where I lived—and how infrequently they were traveled because the next closest city was about a day drive in one direction while the other lead you off a cliff, there wasn't much I could do to hide travelling into town if it wasn't taking a secret back way with my motorcycle.

That was the only downside to living in the very quiet, and secluded countryside.

"We could always just call Kisame." Deidara stopped me in my tracks, and maybe he took the way I looked at him as a good thing because he continued playfully: "If he's not too busy guarding the Uchi—"

"No." I damn near growled, my eyes automatically narrowing at such a stupid idea to get Itachi a whiff of my personal life. Had I needed Kisame to drive me anywhere, I surely would have asked him sooner than now. I had realized my mistake of projection my frustration onto Deidara when he stopped in his tracks too. Luckily one of us was better at reading people than the other. "No, I don't want to call Kisame."

An awkward silence filled the space in my foyer as Deidara, for the first time, encountered a small fraction of my temper. Very rarely will it peep through, but when it does you better follow Naruto and Sasuke's example and run. Shizune, amongst many, have commented—or complained, kind of the same thing—that it was one of my many traits I had inherited from my mother and I'm just going to tell you what she's told everyone else, "I don't have a temper; I just have a very little patience and a low tolerance for bullshit."

"Perhaps we could reschedule?" Shizune suggested weakly, knowing damn well that I had rescheduled countless times over the course of the month to make room for training with Itachi.

I already had my phone out to scroll through the dates where rain was not going to be as deadly as it was that day and, if I was lucky, find a day where there it didn't rain. Seeing that it was already November now, which meant the sky was trying to snow but the climate would not let it, Konoha was bombarded with liquid propelling from the clouds instead of innocent white, and cold fluff.

"I could always drive you, yeah…" Deidara mumbled hesitantly, afraid of being on the receiving end of my wrath once again, and this time, very skeptical of what I was trying to hide.

The possibilities were endless with this one, considering my every growing track record and criminal history. What is Haruno Sakura going to get herself into this week? Stay tune and find out because she always manages to somehow.

It really, _really_, also didn't help that I asked "promise not to tell anyone about what you see today?" before accepting his offer, even he looked at Shizune for some sort of assistance only to see that she had disappeared to tend to my clothes now that she knew I was not testing death with my "dangerous, two wheeled, contraption of death" as she likes to call my metal baby.

"Okay, let's go." I nearly dragged him out of my house and into the storm, flipping my hood on to hide my terribly vibrant hair, and sliding on a pair of sunglasses to hide my equally terribly vibrant eyes. There was a stiffness in Deidara's movement as he followed me to his car and slid into the driver's seat. Had he offered to take me because he knew what he was getting into? No, he probably thought I was going off to sell drugs or attend an evil underground organization meeting set on my revenge for my incarceration. But I can only speculate now that it was probably because he just wanted to help me out—even if he was blindly following me into the devil's nest. "Stop looking at me like that. It's not as bad as you may think."

You could only guess his surprise when I had him pull out the route to Konoha's general hospital—even more so when he couldn't come up with any malice motives which involved this type of institution. Was I going to dirty their drinking water? Was I going to pop all the "get well soon" balloons? Couldn't be. I had nothing but my keys, sunglasses, and phone on me. Also, would I really waste all this time and energy for something as Naruto-basic-pranks as that?

So, instead of playing twenty-one questions with himself, he just asked.

"Oi, what are you doing there, yeah?"

May I also add that he didn't try to hide his surprise of my innocence when he did as well?

"I'm visiting my mom." I said impassively, staring at the busy downtown road ahead of us to keep an eye out for any human with a giant camera extending from their limbs. It was much easier to sleek through with a huge helmet to cover my pink head and entire face, especially since I had switched the bike I rode during high school and now so I was less likely to be identified, but something told me Deidara's tinted windows only drew in more attention than it did keep our identities safe.

"You mean Doctor Tsunade?" He asked excitedly, almost running the yellow-turn-red light.

"Ya, she's the one." I chuckled half-heartedly, already used to everyone's attitude when I mention my famous doctor of a mother. I'm not going to lie, very few associate me with her despite being her adoptive daughter for almost twenty years. It wasn't that they refused with utter persistence and disgust my whole life, but had only begun to do so once they realized that mentioning me, her fugitive daughter, lowered her value as a famous doctor. So, was I really upset that Deidara suddenly remembered that Tsunade was my mother? Nah.

"Oh my god, Sasori's going to flip!" He continued, completely oblivious to the way I turned my head to glare holes into the side of his face through the sides of my sunglasses. "His grandmother taught your mother in Medical School! He's always talked about—"

"I thought I made clear that no one was to know."

Silence once again consumed us and this time a thoughtful look crossed his usual carefree face. I think this was when I knew our relationship took a turn with something with more promise, more so than when he knew he could've been offering his life and he did so anyways. There was my relationship with Itachi, which meant nothing, my relationship with Kisame, which meant amusement, my relationship with Sasori, which was strictly professional, and my relationship with Deidara, which was genuine. It was nice meeting someone who wasn't interested in me because of what the tabloids wrote, but because I threw a person onto him.

"Ya, but I don't see why it's so bad that you're visiting your mother."

There was a care for my livelihood and feeling that extended far beyond the concern of Itachi's success and my ability for follow through with my role as his window-display wife. There was a care for my livelihood and feeling because it was personally valued which was rare to find nowadays.

My face softened as I turned back to the road, deciding that if I was going to ask for more car rides in the future _and _if I was to fully accept his friendship—the first one in many years after my release from jail—that it was only fair that I allowed him to see a piece of me that I only held exclusively for Naruto, Sasuke, and the many few who did not judge me for what I did years ago. Besides Sasuke, Deidara was the only one true person I had with me who was real on this journey to twenty grand of month.

"She's sick." I whispered.

* * *

It's needless to say that Deidara hadn't told a soul about my visit to the hospital. I had initially thought that was the case with how skittish and anxious he was around me, but after I had cornered him and demanded what he thought he was doing, he just said he felt weird knowing that I had someone close to me that was dying. That reason was understandable enough, considering how emotionally constipated I felt around Sasuke a little after I had signed the contract to be Itachi's girlfriend in the wake of Fugaku's declining health. Most days, I considered running away with the circus and living a carefree life away from paparazzi's, sociopaths with dying fathers with lots of money to tempt me.

Deidara eventually got back into the groove of our relationship, finally getting over my mother's cancer and understanding that regardless of how he acted towards me, it wasn't going to change anything. I think what he was most worried about was offending me, such as if he didn't grieve a little and pity me that it showed he didn't care for me or my feelings—which in theory sounded just, but I wasn't that type of person. The more he pitied me, the more I felt hopeless and awkward. I'm the type that if I can't do anything about it, I ferociously repel it or at least the thought.

Most days, I try not to think about my dying mother and Sasuke's dying father. Most days, I override those depressing thoughts with the many approaches I can take to annoy the hell out of the Uchiha Brothers. You know, get them a little angry, make them feel a little bit, make them _live _a little more outside their monotonous, stoic, boring life.

Surprisingly enough, the change in the relationship I had with Deidara didn't go unnoticed by the other three who occupied the cottage. Sasori either didn't care enough or understood his boundaries enough not to question us about it, and I really wasn't all that surprised to see that he was perceptive enough to notice. But Kisame, on the other hand, openly asked if we frickle-fracked together and if I had broken his heart afterwards.

_That_ didn't go over so well for the three men—three meaning Kisame, Itachi, and Deidara.

To my every growing surprise, instead of directing his anger and dissatisfaction towards me for breaking the contract, the hormonal Uchiha turned to Deidara in a fit of suppressed rage. It wasn't until I threw the larger man to the ground and asked what type of rumors he was trying to start that Itachi let up in his pursuit to castrate the blond. Even so, that didn't stop him from interrogating me on the ride home to my house that evening.

Any normal, and clearly delusional, woman would think that it was because Itachi had developed some sort of emotional attachment towards me that it would cause him to react in the way he did. Was I normal though? Have I ever led you on to think I was? No. Despite how prime and proper the aristocrats wanted to appear to be, and do appear to be in papers, we are probably the most weird of them all with our addictions, family, and the money to indulge us in our weirdness. So, because of my exposure to the great Uchiha Clan, as well as the Hyuugas, and snippets of the Inuzukas, I knew that normal and fantastical assumption was not true. Because I knew better, I knew he was just competitive enough to not want to lose something that was never his to his enemy-friend.

Just because of ego.

"Hey! Brat! Wake-up—holy shit!"

And somewhere between that awkward encounter to now, Itachi decided that it was suddenly okay for Kisame to wonder into my house and my room without knocking—for all I know checking to see if Deidara and I were naked in bed together.

I hope he won't be so disappointed to find that it was just me, naked, in my bed, by myself.

"What the fuck are you doing in my room?" I groaned, rolling over onto my stomach to glare at Kisame in what I hoped would be intimidating when I sadly only looked like a blinded rabbit—a face I have come to make a lot because I refuse to wear my glasses. So much that my teacher made sure to not only seat me in the front, but wrote as minimal and as closely to where I was seated as possible.

"Why are you naked?" He howled, covering his face for all my shame like the virgin that he probably is. He even subtly inched back over to my bed from the door he was hiding behind to finger the blanket back over me.

"Because I sleep naked! Why they fuck are you in here? Get out!" In my very successful plan to shoo him out of my room, I carelessly threw the covers off my body. There was a half-second delay, I will admit, where he stood rooted in his spot and flourished the limb in his pants, but he was out by the time my foot touched the floor.

Unlike my sensei, I wasn't usually, if not at all, this tardy. On regular days, when I was expecting the arrogant Uchiha and his sidekick to come pick me up for training, I would've had breakfast and been waiting in the foyer by now. But, as anyone can conclude, I was not expecting their vile presence that morning.

After a string of curse words that I muttered under my breath, every single one but the first one muttered in a language I had made up, I slipped on a pair of shorts and T-shit and dragged my tired ass down to the dining hall.

"G'morning." I think I said—or at least hoped. It was that or a dying whale noise that came out of my barely coherent self as I crawled onto my chair and sat across from a very amused Uchiha. If I had the energy, which I had not from coming home and getting sleep only three hours before Kisame got all up in my naked grill, I would've launched the vase of flowers at his head for finding amusement in my fatigue.

"Nice to see you are decent." He said, sipping the tea Shizune brought for him before she scurried back into the kitchen to get me a glass of warm almond milk.

"Suck my ass, Uchiha." I snarled, glaring at Kisame who no doubt confide in the Uchiha in all his distress of seeing his very first naked woman in person. But my eyes ended up drifting downwards to the bulge the sprouted and I smirked, maliciously. "Kisame loved it. The thing between his legs says so."

Ever so slowly, and comically, both men slowly turned to look at the tent in Kisame's pants.

"So it does." Itachi said nonchalantly, doing his best to act unfazed by 1. The reaction itself, and 2. The size of the reaction. Kisame, on the other hand, scooted behind the chair to gift god generously blessed him with.

"What do you want, Uchiha." I demanded after the warm liquid warmed my belly, my face, no longer representing a tired fluff-ball, and I glared into the depths of Itachi's empty soul. "I thought I had today off."

He studied me of course, as he had been doing so since the day we were forced to be around each other. What he was trying to memorize and figure out, I didn't know. I honestly don't even know how much more he could study seeing that there wasn't much to me but my pink hair, green eyes, and being 100lbs of pure whoopass and sass.

"You did. However, a trip as been planned for us to travel to my summer home."

I almost snorted at "summer home." Almost, but didn't, so you have to give me credit there. It was really summer eight out of the twelve months, where it got kind of spring/fall for two, and for the other two it was 98% rain with the very rare 2% of snow.

"Who is 'us'?" I asked instead of criticizing his capitalistic, pretentious lifestyle that dictates his need for a summer home in an already summery city to demonstrate his wealth.

"The five of us." He said curtly, eyes sparkling with evil as my face soured dramatically with the thought that this was not a vacation, but more of training. "Do you not wish to go by the beach? I find you in the waters most of the time so I'm surprise you would decline such an offer."

Was I supposed to say I would rather not go because I did not want to train? Of course not. Despite having these established rest days, it was not exclusively stated that I had them in the contract.

"Well, Uchiha, unlike you I have to work for my money." Which was not entirely a lie. I did work, but I was did not have a set schedule where I was required to go in any time soon.

"You're working for me right now, aren't you?" He said oh-so-arrogantly, completing ignorance that I could probably break both of Kisame's arm and puncture his lungs with his ribcage before any of them see me move. "As I recall, I transferred a healthy sum of money into your account just last week."

"And what did you think I was doing up until you so graciously walked into my life?" I retorted evenly, the weight of suppressing my anger grumbling in my chest as the only indication of murder were in the darkening of my green eyes. "I worked for it."

"Well, I'm sure your boss will understand if I called in for you, wouldn't he?"

"It's fine, I'll let him know."

I pulled out my phone to text Kiba, letting him know not to book or expect me to pop on by the bar in the next couple of days. My anger had begun to cool down by then, my mind finally processing that despite whatever mediocre training he might put me through, we were going to be in a pretty summer's home by a nice, beautiful beach.

"And don't worry about packing." But then he spoke, and my thought of sunbathing on the beach and watching the sunset and sunrise turned dark accidently running him over with a speedboat. "Sasori has you covered in that department."

I had gathered enough energy to climb out of my chair, the thought of sleeping the whole car-ride encouraging me with the idea that the faster we get going, the sooner I was able to rest. The bastard, of course, had other ideas than to let me continue on peacefully with his "though I do suggest changing and brushing your teeth," and if I had a little more energy, I would've launched Tonton at him than grumbling a very weak "fuck you," which he must have been accustomed to by now.

Nonetheless, I did just as he so snobbishly suggested. Did I curse his name through the patches where I was conscious and wasn't asleep on the toilet while brushing my teeth? Yes. But I followed through, didn't I? You can imagine how dead I was the second my butt touched the leather of the backseat, so much that I hadn't even woken up for when Deidara and Sasori got into the SUV.

I woke up to the dampen fabric of Deidara's sweater on the shoulder I had rolled my head on in my four hours nap. He was asleep when I had woken and I was fortunate enough to enjoy about fifteen minutes of serenity where Itachi had classical music playing on the radio—that nerd—but of course a little drool on your shoulder is something to throw a fit about. Sasori and Itachi were quick to shut him up.

It only took another thirty of classical and paved road and tall trees with an every bright sun shining in my face before I could no longer take the insanity that was no doubt forming inside me.

"My grandmother drives faster than you," I huffed, leaning forward and resting my elbows on the shoulder of Kisame's and Itachi's seat. "And she's dead."

The two obviously made an effort to ignore me while Deidara snickered from beside me. Was being ignored and turning up the volume on Beethoven going to stop me? No. So, in an effort to voice my concern for how slow Kisame was driving on a very empty freeway, I continued to pester him with remarks about the speed of turtles in comparison to how very fast we were actually going.

"Hey, one more snarky remark out of you and I'm dropping you off on the side of the road." He finally barked, glancing up at me through the rear view mirror and glaring at me over the top of his sunglasses.

"Oh please," I made a point of rolling my eyeballs so far back I saw the top of my brain, and smirking, I said, "At least I'll make it there before you do going negative five miles an hour—are you even going the speed limit?"

"I'm going ten over, you little brat!"

I sighed.

"My poor grandma is weeping from her grave."

I had to admit that was pretty fast, but if I could make out the pattern of the bark on the tree it was not fast enough. It was a little alarming that he didn't have a retort to my insult, which he usually did, and what I was also hoping on to get me through the next however long I didn't know it was going to take. Instead, he pulled over onto the side of the road.

A small part of me really believed he was going to drop me off on the side of the road to walk my way there, or back, but the logical part of me knew that wasn't going to happen with Itachi there—unless he was too annoyed with me and was going to drop me off, but I was hoping on Deidara if he still wasn't mad at me for drooling on his sweater and Sasori liked me enough to defend.

"If you think you can drive better than me, why don't you come up here and give it a go?" He growled, throwing off his seatbelt with the keys still in the engine.

"Kisame—" Itachi was obviously quick to shut that idea down, being the cowardly nerd that he was. Rightfully so, too, I had to admit. Who wanted an ex-con with the bad habit of getting into trouble and barely sat behind the wheel driving them around, especially at 110 plus kilometers an hour.

"You bet your ass I can drive better than you!" But of course I wasn't going to be stuck in the backseat, sandwiched between my two trainers for the next couple hours, listening to classical music so I obviously shut down Itachi's shut down quicker than he could shut down.

I climbed through the middle and into the front seat, and poor Sasori, having sat behind the driver's seat, was forced into the middle seat as Kisame climbed in. I will remind you that I do have my driver's license, but I can't promise I drove as well as or as legally as I rode.

"How long does it usually take to get there from here?" I asked, pulling back onto the road without even having put my seatbelt on—again, out of bad habit.

"Three hours." Kisame grunted from behind me, voice straining as I accelerated rapidly once I the wheel centered.

"Three! Where the hell is your summer home? On the edge of the continent?" I asked Itachi over the sound of modern music, pop music, that was probably rotting my brain. He paused from reaching over to pull on my seat belt to glare at me, not even bothering to answering me in the end. "Fine, I'll get us there in two."

* * *

"I volunteer Sakura-chan to drive us back, yeah."

I don't think it was possible to get us to the Uchiha's remote summer home any faster than I did. Kisame's persistent plea that he let himself resume his position as driver while Itachi was half-amused and excited about the illegal speed I was going and half-scared out of his mind by how firmly he was gripping his armrest fell deaf to all ears, as Itachi was clearly enjoying this small wave of adrenaline and Deidara stuck his head out the window to get himself a free blowout. You would think that an older man like Kisame, living and risking his life as a bodyguard to the heir of the Uchiha Corporation that he would enjoy the adrenaline rush I had pumping through his veins, but you could understand the disappointment I felt when I realized that wasn't the case and Kisame was, in fact, just a really big chicken of a man.

"Like hell, she is!" Kisame growled, popping the trunk open to unload all our things. "We almost died! Twice!"

As much as I wanted to feign innocent to that statement and brush it off as the chicken man's over-reaction, it wasn't at all, not even in the slightest bit, a lie. The only reason it would be is if we had been in those two accidents—both involving two trucks, a head on collision, and a T-bone—and all survived. But let's be real here: going the speed I was going all of us would've ended up dead if I hadn't skillfully maneuvered us to dodge both of them.

The adrenaline was exhilarating, and that is why, ladies and gents, people are wary of me in Konoha. And my arrest in high school, but let's all pretend I'm just this badass instead of the criminal they've painted me to be.

"Relax, old man. I knew what I was doing." I rolled my eyes, turning my attention to the one person who had the final say in the decision—though I would rather cut off my own foot than admit it out loud. Toss my hair in the most seductive way I knew how, I wrapped my arms tendering around my better paying income and fluttered my eyelashes gingerly—however one does flutter their eyelashes gingerly—and cooed. "You had faith in me, didn't you darling?

"Hn." He said indifferently, entertaining my nonsense with the least amount of effort that it took any Uchiha to.

The infamous "hn."

If it was a specialized skills, as I assume it one day would be with how quickly the Uchihas were expanding to take over the world, the ability to translate this newly found language of "hn" would be in definite high demands on resumes. With that being said, Naruto and I have come to study and fully understand this new language in the case our skills are needed in the future we could translate it perfectly. And by that, I mean take it anyway we want to take it and let Sasuke suck on an egg for not communicating to us like a normal homosapien that he was.

In the case of Uchiha Itachi, I took his lack of effort as an annoyed "yes" to settle the case once in for all. Despite the fact that he probably peed himself a bit when the commercial truck barely grazed his side view mirror, he had to admit I added a certain excitement to his life—even if it was as lame as going over the speed limit on an empty highway with occasional stop signs and trucks.

"Then it's settled: I get the car on the way back so suck it!" I hollered over the Uchiha's shoulder, sticking my tongue out in the most lady-like way possible at the older man who was anything but happy at the arrangement and about to chuck the loaded suitcase at my head had I not been latched onto the Uchiha.

My embrace on the Uchiha ceased immediately after I got my way, so you should note for the books. There was nothing I enjoyed more during that time than to keep my distance and personal space from clashing with Itachi's unless it was used in a form of a mockery—just because Uchihas were touchy when it came to their personal bubble.

Unless you are Sasuke, then by then I really didn't care what that Uchiha had to say, I was going to wrap my arms and legs around his head and have him stumble into on-coming traffic just because I felt like expressing my affection in such a manner that day. Realistically, he fell into the pool, but you got the gist of Sasuke is treated compared to the other Uchihas.

In a better mood now that I got to sleep in peace and drive illegally, I shimmied my way between Kisame and Deidara who were more than reluctant to let me through. I hadn't really questioned why that was, then; I only assumed it was either out of spite on Kisame's part and teasing on Deidara's. Little did I remember that these aren't the boys I grew up with, and despite getting a glance of my capabilities here and there, they really didn't grasp the notion that little ol' me was very, very capable of handling herself and carrying in her own bags.

"What are you doing, yeah?"

Deidara leaned into me as his hand nearly engulfed mine, gripping the handle between my two fists which had already latched onto the pink bag which could only be mine—unless Sasori, or either of the boys had a liking for pink that I didn't know about as I have yet to ever see the colour pink around them unless it was for my hair.

I stared him in the eye, unfazed by the new ultra-macho pheromones he was trying give off and the proximity between us.

"What do you mean? I'm carrying my bags in." I stated matter of factly, tugging the bag towards me.

"Why are you doing that? We got it, yeah." He said, except of tugging it back, he let it go.

"Because I have two working arms and legs, and I can carry—ah!"

Sensei would've been disappointed to hear that I let my guard down and not letting my suspicion get the best of me, as it always had in the past. Deidara, being the sneaky idiot that he was, lifted me over his shoulder in one foul swoop.

"Get inside, you dork." He laughed, carrying my away from the SUV and up the porch into the house. "We have your bags, yeah."

In my distrust for him to able to carry me successfully into the house and not drop me, I let go of the unsurprisingly heavy bags of clothes and gripped onto his shirt.

"Deidara, what are you—oh my god!" I didn't miss the way Itachi eyed us though, nor did I miss the way he didn't even offer to help carry in his own bags.

My view of the situation was soon replaced by another glass door, covered by transparent white curtains. Deidara headed straight for the set of couch the sat facing the open kitchen in this very cozy and—dare I say—nicely furnished and not over tacky summer home.

He dropped me onto the couch without a second thought, disappearing before I could compose myself with a simple "stay."

He returned as quickly as he left with the other boys in toe. The pink bag, as I had suspected, was dropped in front of me to be sorted while the rest was carried up the stairs to the rooms of their respected owners.

"Your swimsuit is on the side." Sasori said before disappearing, which I could have been taken as a simple suggestion or a snarky remark considering the fact that I basically lived in the river behind their cabin for the last month.

"Is this Uchiha approved?"

Let me tell you something. The piece of fabric I pulled out from the side pocket was not something I would've taken as a swimsuit had I seen it anywhere else—nonetheless something I would've gotten for myself. Be it because of the price or because of my pretentious attitude, I couldn't really tell you.

It was a two piece—a bikini—with gold chains connecting from the center of my top piece to the two sides of my bottom piece. Really, it was just a regular black bikini. But something about the gold chains made it sexier and more unreasonably expensive than it needed to be. Those sinister, over-appealing gold chains of inappropriateness, I'm sure, would not have been approved by mama Uchiha.

"It was a lot of money, so I'm sure it is, yeah." Deidara said from behind me, jumping over the couch and landing nearly on top of my pretty, probably $5000 worth head thanks to all the products and investment made in it over the last month.

"You're just a perv." I was never one to be modest or shy about my body. That's not to say I would openly flaunt it, but something like a bikini with gold chains wasn't going to keep me from enjoying the ocean. "Get changed too and let's go swimming."

"Yes, ma'am."

I quickly hurried to the little powder room tucked under the stairway to change, hoping to making in and out and swim halfway to Western coast of Suna before the Uchiha became any wiser about mine and Deidara's whereabouts.

You could imagine my disappointment when I heard very light, ballet footsteps down the stairs above me that could not belong to the humongous human that was Kisame or Sasori—who was not humongous, but wasn't very light footed from the times I've tried to take a nap at the cottage and was woken up by the footsteps of a hairstylist.

"What are you doing, Deidara?" I heard the arrogant voice through the door, and my eyes, as if conditioned, rolled in annoyance.

"Sakura-chan wants to go swimming." There an unfazed, carefreeness in Deidara's voice that made me smirk, reminding me of a home and a headache that was Naruto vs. Sasuke. I poked my head out the little opening of the door to examine my position from this small little bathroom to the exit and Deidara was quick to give away my position as he smiled at me over Itachi's shoulder. "The lady gets what she wants, yeah."

"Let's go. Let's go. Let's go!" I squealed, running passed Deidara and doing everything I could to block out the Uchiha's aura as one does when any of them are throwing an internal hissy fit.

In the background I could hear Sasori's distress in the carelessness I had towards my body, or so he would tell me every time I don't spend at least 5 hours nourishing it. It went something along the lines of "Oi! Put on some sunscreen!" before a more exasperated growl of "Deidara, make her put on some sunscreen! I didn't spend all that time exfoliating and toning her skin for her to get sunburned!"

That led the blond to chase me down like a distress mama cheetah, a bottle of sunscreen in his hand as he desperately yelled "Come on, Sakura-chan!" as he did not run as regularly as I did, with "this may seem like a vacation, but you're still under training—and a contract!"

After two laps around the large house where he collapse in a heap of boy sweat and cortisol, I finally plopped down in front of him with my back turned and my breathing even.

"Don't get any ideas, now."

It took him another five minutes to compose himself and come back with his own sassy remark. How Itachi expected Deidara to protect me, when he was physically weaker than me, didn't make sense in the slightest bit. Were he to start guarding me and I decided to chase down a train for whatever reason one would chase down a train, I would make it to Suna before he would even make it out of Konoha. And lord knows what would happen to be in Suna. What happens in Suna, stays in Suna, as everyone might say except for the people who live there.

But it was understandable that there was a weird, middle-school awkward trust between Itachi and Deidara, as there was between Sasuke and Naruto. I didn't question their relationship much—not to be able to comment on it loud at least—even when they were at each other's throats and Kisame and I had to pull them apart. Their bullshit relationship wasn't the weirdest thing in my life, and if I really, really had to label it, they only were around each other because they had mutual friends vs. actually being friends out of free will. If I had to take it a step further, and you know I will, I thought they secretly liked the challenge they opposed on each other in this weird, sadist relationship where a little snarky remarks here and there got them going.

"Well, let's say if I did, you would like it, yeah." I flinched then he slapped a handful of cold sunscreen on my shoulder, rubbing it into my skin carelessly that I was sure the cream was as opaque as it was in the bottle. In another life, I had hoped to be a snowman of some sort. Thank you Deidara for making that possible now.

"Oh really?" I asked in low, raspy voice, tossing my hair over my shoulder while untying the two strings on my bikini top to give him better access to my back, however, I couldn't hide that I was also egging him on.

When something cold and white hit my face, you could imagine how astonished I was until I realized what I thought it was didn't come out cold. You know what I'm talking about. Don't act like you don't.

"Stop that!" Holding the weapon in question in front of my face, he stared down at me almost desperately. I had half the mind to shove the bottle of sunscreen down his throat, but his poor life was luckily spared when I remembered that the sunscreen would come off in the ocean. "You're gonna get me fired, yeah."

I blinked slowly at him, unfazed by his very realistic worry before shimmying up against him to stare up at him in what I think was seductive, but maybe, maybe actually looked like I was having a seizure. "But you would like it."

"Deidara."

In all my sunscreen covered face and further teasing the easily flustered blond, like many of my blonds are, I hadn't noticed Itachi watching us intently before deciding we were getting too cozy with each other and butting in. Again, I will leave it up to you or anyone, really, you think up why he would do such a thing as he liked me as much as cats like cucumbers.

"Oh, hello darling. Are you sure your delicate, pale skin can withstand the sun?" I asked anyway, sticking my tongue out at the less than happy—now whispering profanity under his breath at the Uchiha—blond for ruining my drool covered face.

"Well, darling, as you can see I am much tanner than you."

The way Deidara and I both paused really didn't need any explanation to you, does it? Itachi playing along? What is this? Who paid him more money than he had to do such a thing?

He squatted down to demonstrate. Holding his arm out against mine to show the contrast and surprisingly, he was a little tanner than me. He also obviously had a high dose of melanin as his skin was slightly more yellow than mine, but despite that, he was tanner, making my fairly colored skin look like snow in comparison.

It was during odd times like these that I was questioning the greater forces of the universe and what the hell they were conspiring about in their greater force palace somewhere out there in the galaxy. They think that if the Uchiha became slightly more tolerant and bearable that we wouldn't notice the change within it, but bitch you thought!

Deidara must have been thinking the exact same thing—okay, maybe not exact, exact, but along the lines of something was not right with the Uchiha—and we eyed each other warily. I had the option of either embracing this moment for what it was and countering it with an acceptable amount of sarcasm, or completely reject the Uchiha's attempt to be civil and for him to never do it again. And while I do appreciate myself an honest man, I much preferred a bearable Uchiha who writes my paycheck to stick around instead of his arrogant, prissy former self.

I stretched myself into a smile and straightened my back in farce excitement, willfully stretching my arm out in comparison to his while the other held my bikini top up.

"Indeed you are!" I exclaimed, flipping my arm over to show the underside which, to my much hidden dismay, was ten times paler. I twisted around to face him, wrapping my arm around his as my voice dropped seductively—or overall just dropped. "Why, I just love myself a tan, hard-working man."

"Hn."

In the corner of my eye, I saw Deidara choke on the imaginary vomit her conjured, then falling to his impending death from all the horrors of witnessing the affection between Itachi and I.

Itachi took the abused bottle of sunscreen away from the now-dead blond, squeezing a generous amount into his hand before gesturing for me to turn around. To say I was tense was an understatement, so much so that if I had not schooled myself to not flinch at the next contact he made with my skin, my whole body would have reacted and I, out of poor judgement on my brain's part, would have farted.

He started by brushing all the hairs over my shoulder, making sure to tuck them around my neck before he rubbed his hands together and massaged the UV protectant into my skin. It was surprisingly gentle, to be honest, and I, instead of enjoying the mini massage, readied myself in case he decided to pull a knife on me.

Again, was this really a vacation or another kidnapping of Itachi's part?

When he stopped I didn't move for a good five breaths just to make sure he was actually done and wasn't just waiting for me to turn around and stare into the barrel of a gun. I was only about to turn when he reached his arms over me, fingers tangling themselves with my bikini strings before he secured them around the nape of my neck.

Now, I wasn't the one to let people know I was nervous or uncomfortable, although I did use that as a way of letting people know I did not agree with them rather than just straight out telling them I was scared. So, obviously, I wasn't going to switch up on Itachi and thank him genuinely when two seconds and a nice massage ago, I was teasing him with my make-believe.

That led me to my first mistake where I twisted around and pecked him on the cheek playfully.

It won't look like a mistake now, but in hindsight, this could have been what snowballed Itachi and I into what we became later on. Maybe this sparked something in him, maybe started something in me. I don't know. Overall, what I'm saying is that the trouble we caused each other did not just begin with that contract. Everything was good and dandy until we took things too far.

"Thank you, darling." I cooed, gathering the bag full of beach supplies that Deidara brought out with the sunscreen. "Now, if you will excuse me, I think I'm going to work on my tan to match yours. Sometimes I find it so hard to keep up with such a strong, handsome man like you."

And that was how Deidara and I scampered away: leaving a very puzzled and slightly irritated Uchiha who got sand in his dress shoes just to rub sunscreen on me on the beach.

* * *

**Hello all. I am alive. I have the whole plot figured out. And I once again apologize for the wait. University weeks go by so much quicker than the weeks in high school, and I wish I was better at organizing the time that's clearly slipping away from me. **

**This chapter was more of an informative/filler chapter. We can't have things developing too fast, even though this story I looking to be a long one.**

**All comments and criticism are widely accepted and appreciated. **


	5. V

**V**

* * *

Like he had done back at home, Itachi left Deidara and I to our shenanigans for the rest of the afternoon. Not like very much could be accomplished in the middle of absolute buttfuck nowhere—I mean, the worst we had done was probably pee in the ocean (sorry)—but being able to roll around in the sand, build sandcastles with our bare hands, and oppose the waves coming into shore without Itachi's stink eye staring us down was nice and freeing.

You must have come to some conclusion about how miserable my life has come to be if something as simple as not having a certain pretend boyfriend watch over you like a hawk felt liberating. What was this? The late 19th century before the first wave of feminism hit?

The real trouble, also known as fun, began when I found the Uchiha's stash of wine, which has made me sound like your average housewife in an unhappy relationship. Great. This gets better and better from here on in, I promise.

I asked—Kisame, but I still asked—of course, before indulging myself to one single bottle of white wine tucked at the back of the cellar. By then, all the boys left to do whatever boys did the the evening. Sasori and Kisame probably went to bed, Itachi was probably tending to one of his weird nightly habits, and—from what I could recall after stumbling into the house with sand in his pants—Deidara went to shower. That left me with the ginormous kitchen to dirty up with my deeds. And by that, I meant baking.

"I want bananas. I love bananas. Fuck yeah, bananas." I remember singing to myself as I spun around the kitchen, searching the drawers for a mixing bowl and a fork.

My weird tendency to bake was a mystery to all, even myself. No one really complained about it because they got delicious goods out of it, but it was probably a question that kept them up at night after they've eaten half a dozen muffins and had a slice of pie. If I could narrow it down to one source, I would say that alcohol raises my tolerance for many things. I can tolerate some sort of bullshit, making me more fun to be around because I wasn't calling you out on every little bit of bullshit that came out of your mouth and I can tolerate the tedious task of measuring and mixing and waiting for the fucking things to cook.

Again, we don't complain about it, we whisper about it behind my back with mouths stuffed with cake.

"I got a banana in my pants that you might find enjoyable, yeah." Deidara tried seductively after his shower, leaning onto the counter with his wet, blond hair clinging to his naked shoulders in the most unflattering way.

I eyed him suspiciously, plopping all the bananas I needed into the mixing bowl hidden on the highest shelf in the cupboard and turned to him with a grin.

"Oh really? Bring it over because I gotta mush it for the muffins." I showed him the whole bananas before I jabbed my fork into them, his smirk plummeting further and further into my cozy home in hell with every jab I took at the soft fruit.

Then suddenly, a lightbulb of realization went off in his brain. I swore his eyes shone so bright that for the two seconds I was staring at him, I was blinded by the light of his brain finally switching on after all these years.

"Are you making banana muffins, again?" The bounce in his step as he rounded the island was excitement enough, and got me more excited about baking than I originally was after my first drink, but then he got all up in my grill and pressed himself against my back while he stared over my shoulder to watch me jab what could have been his penis. "Did you drink, yeah?"

"I had a glass of wine." I motioned to the open bottle behind me. "Maybe two."

"Is that so?" His chuckled echoed through the head, his face now pressed against my sea salted hair as he trapped me between his arms. "Well, let me get in on this, yeah—"

"Deidara, Sasori called for your assistance." I usually don't get caught off guard very easily, simply because I don't allow myself to ignore my surroundings and became unaware of the happenings around me. You do that enough time while being me and you're dead, and preferably I would like to stay alive for another couple of years to see what life has planned for me.

But at the sound of Itachi voice at the bottom of the stairwell, I flinched so wildly that I headbutted Deidara's bottom chin as he was twisting himself off of me in the same surprise.

Rubbing his sore chin, Deidara glared at the Uchiha with disinterest, growling under his breath "I didn't hear him say sh—"

"Go."

In a stare off between anyone except Naruto, a Hyuuga, and I, they were sure to lose against an Uchiha who has mastered—maybe invented—the aggressive stare down which substituted for throwing a tantrum. So it wasn't surprising when Deidara left in a whisper of profanity, leaving me to stand awkwardly with a mixing bowl in my arms as Itachi turned his undivided attention to me.

My goodness, doesn't that sound so intensely romantic? Itachi. Undivided attention. Me! Oh god, someone out there is probably squealing with excitement at this upcoming love-making scene that really isn't going to happen. Jokes on you.

Now, I don't watch a lot of dramas. More of catch glimpse and snippets of them when Shizune is screaming at the TV that "you're so stupid," and "no, he loves you!" but this really looked like the beginning of a love triangle that I did not want to be a part of. If we could call it a love triangle considering the fact that Itachi loved me as much as he loved being poor.

"Good evening, darling. Would you like some banana muffins or a glass of wine?" I asked when he just stood there, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere he managed to create with six simply words. He rounded me like a tiger, eyes kept carefully on me, probably hoping I would fidget or tense up at some point. Someone tell him he's not the first man to try to intimidate me and that he's got to best Sasuke's 'I'm going to kill you for stealing my drugs' stare to get some sort of feeling going inside me and my panties. He reached for the glass of wine I poured for myself and drank it while maintaining a very awkward—for him because like what—eye contact. "Preferable not mine."

"I apologize, but I believe I paid for that." The way his lips spread into a smirk almost got me to roll my eyes—almost. These Uchiha men, thinking that they won because they had some sort of clever comeback like I don't have a counter for it because I'm too intimidated to talk back a second time. Sweetheart, I could probably out smartass you until the cows come home because they apparently leave the farm and now that's a saying but you get what I mean!

"Your father paid for it, actually." I snorted, turning to gather up the rest of the hidden baking ingredients they for whatever reason—like they don't bake—kept hidden on the high shelves. "Besides, I never see you drink wine."

That, in code means "I see what you're trying to do, asshole."

"But that is to not say I don't." He proved his point by draining my entire wine glass, which wasn't very much considering that I already drank half of its contents, but at least he thought he proved a point.

"Fair." I conceded, now too occupied with climbing the counter to pay him any more childish attention. My fingers had barely touched the bag of flour, and I being too focused on making sure the whole sack wouldn't spill all over me, when Itachi made himself close and comfortable with my backside. I paused when I felt the warmth of his hand next to mine on top of the counter and his pelvis press up against my ass. "Uchiha, you are way too close in my personal space."

You would think that after setting down the bag of flour he would back away. You really wouldn't think Uchiha Itachi to be so extra, or so monotonous about it, but intensifying and being overdramatic seemed to be is favourite pastime—even if he was being a cold son of a bitch about it.

"Consider this payback for soaking my suit." He whispered of so huskily into my ear when I right myself onto the floor, still keeping me entrapped with his two arms.

Again, I snorted, refusing to be fazed in the slightest bit by our intimacy or by his comment. Mentioning our proximity was one thing, reacting to it physically was another.

"Cry me a river," Having glanced at him over my shoulder, his smirk faded while mine widened. "You probably have two hundred more laying at home."

I turned to face him completely, and despite being the social awkward of a person that he was, I knew he knew a challenge when he saw one. He bent his arm and pressed his body against mine, staring down at me questionable for this is probably the first time a woman didn't submit to his handsome face, average physique, height, or money.

"Well, Haruno, that one was my favourite."

In the most un-Itachi like movements, so much that I get weird goosebumps just thinking about it, he bent down and lifted me up onto the counter, wrapping my legs around his torso as he leaned forward. You probably thought what the hell there, right? How did what he have before progress to the bullshit I'm telling you now? Well, lord I don't know. I told you it was un-Itachi like—even Un-Uchiha like. So fucking bizarre and foreign I was waiting for camera lights to go off and film this mystical sighting.

But outwardly, I didn't react. I simply stared at into his deep, dark, mischievous eyes unfazed before snorted once again. "Are you trying to take advantage of my intoxicated state?"

He blinked. Once. Twice. Before chuckling and pulling away.

"I see the alcohol has made you delusional," He said, setting the bag of flour onto the kitchen island for me. But then he paused, and the hairs on my arm stood up and I had to physically and mentally prepare myself for whatever nonsense was going to come out of his whore mouth next. "or is it revealing your deepest desires?"

I threw my head back and laughed hysterically, hoping I could tell you guys this was when the Uchiha fell in love with me as they all seem to do in other movies and stories, but when I finally composed myself he had this puzzled look on his face as to why his little seduction or question which was supposed to draw me out of my conservation didn't work.

"In your wildest dreams, Uchiha." I patted him on the arm for no hard feelings, taking the flour he was so kind as to get all up on my ass and into my grill for and continuing on in my intoxicated task for freshly baked banana muffins. "But, if you're not here to seduce me, what do you want?"

"I want you…" There he goes again being dramatic, really believe I would think that his little pause was actually him telling me that he wanted me and, even if he did, actually giving two positive horse asses about it. In reality, if that was what he was saying I would telling that this really sucked for him and then I would call Sasuke to pick me up and remove me from this awkwardness so I can sanitize myself from the awkwardness that clung onto me by a rejected Uchiha. "…to teach me how to make your banana muffins."

Now I blinked. Once. Twice. And then my face crept into a wicked smile at the thought of this new blackmail worthy material.

"Well, is Mr. Uchiha Itachi secretly into baking?" I cooed, nudging him with the elbow I had wrapped around the mixing bowl.

He was surprisingly patient enough not to lash out like Sasuke usually does when Naruto and I tease him and instead, lowered his head to my height and said "my mother really enjoys them, but she has yet to know of our relationship, so she thinks I am the one who is making them."

I have to admit that that was one of the attractive features to Itachi: his patience. Although you couldn't really blame him either because when he was impatient it was not a pretty sight to witness. So was it really attractive now? No, it was more of a necessity.

"Trying to steal another person's credit; how shameful." I huffed, turning my back to him which now unsurprisingly didn't get very much of a reaction. So I thought: if Itachi needed this recipe, which was code for him begging for it since an Uchiha asking was as close to a normal person's begging as it got, I could probably use it to my advantage. "My recipe doesn't come free."

"What else could your little heart desire?" He rolled his eyes.

My wicked smiled spread. "Hm, let's change my payment to 30 grand a month."

"Perhaps another bottle of wine?"

"Deal."

* * *

"Sasori." Itachi called the second his polished, leather clad foot stepped through the screen door, demanding undivided attention and making me (an idiot) turn from the horror movie Deidara and I—or I, alone, because he had buried himself under the comfort and protection of a fluffless throw pillow—were watching to see what his hustle and bitching was that cool November day. "Let's get her dressed; I'm taking her out to lunch."

This—this was the snowball I was talking about. The one that began to roll when I danced along to the music he was humming at the beach house. In the last two weeks, I made a point not to question it anymore. If he was so willing to be less of an asshole and more of a friend, come pretend-boyfriend, then I was more willing to be less of the bigger asshole to compete and play along like his accomplice. That didn't save him from a couple snarky remarks here and a few sarcastic comments there, but it was all in good nature in comparison to the mess we had going on before.

Overall, the urge to push him in front of a bus or haul my dining room table at his perfectly brushed and powdered head weren't as frequent as they had once been in the beginning. Which was troubling and questionable, I have to admit now that I'm looking back on it, yet somehow overlooked during the time for convenience sake. He, on the other hand, made a point to be more civil and even friendly. Much so that it started to become difficult to distinguish what was a part of training and done for the sake of his end goal and what was genuine.

I knew I was getting myself into trouble, here.

"You're early today." I commented, pausing the movie during the more gruesome parts of it which made Deidara whimper and hide his face back into the cushion when he mistakenly thought the coast was clear in the silence of blood splattering and guts splashing onto the screen. Very macho, indeed. This whimpering knucklehead will surely protect me from bees and flying dandelion, I was sure—the most hazardous of things for my being.

Itachi regarded our situation curiously. Whatever snobby, pole-up-the ass comment he made in his head had decided to die there as he looked at me with—I want to say blank because it didn't hold the usual assholeness to them, but they weren't exactly blank either. He looked at me like a normal person, I guess, without judgement and without the need or want to change anything about me. He literally _just looked at me_ and it was something so new that I just had to spend three sentences describing the lack of asshole in him.

"I'm on my lunch break," He said, eying me carefully as I rounded the couch. "And you are going to join me for lunch."

I laughed, holding my hand out for Sasori to take. "You sure have a way of asking girls out, don't you, Uchiha?"

There was a faint smirk that he thought I didn't see as Sasori was pulling me up the stairs, one that would not have been openly expressed before—not that it was now, but in this light vs. just smirking at me and my predicament.

Whatever lack of modesty I had before definitely died the moment I allowed Sasori to dress and undress me for the first time. I hadn't put up much of fight for my innocence, which should have been alarming—and would've raised hell if either Sasuke or Naruto found out—considering the fact that he was a complete stranger at the time, stripping me naked before dressing me up. So it was no different now that he stripped me of my "lazy-girl" clothes to put me in "wealthy-women" clothes. Such clothes, as Naruto and Sasuke would call it, was "someone impersonating Sakura a little too poorly."

Throughout the later parts of my adolescent years and into my teen ones, it was very, very rare to see me anything other than one, our school uniform, two, gym clothes, or three, sweatpants or shorts. A sighting of Haruno Sakura in a dress, not to mention the short, pale-pink number Sasori had me sucking in to fit into, was as valuable as the mysterious nine-tailed fox so many have claimed to be roaming our forests and protecting our small little city.

I have a love for sweatpants, yoga pants, and jean shorts that will not quit. So was my love for wearing ankle socks and chunky sandals, but after a unanimous vote amongst my peers, I had been banned from being seen in public with such atrocities on my feet. Such atrocity everyone but me considered to be so vile that Naruto had almost convinced his dad into making it a local law.

"Isn't this too fancy?" I asked the second I caught myself in the mirror, staring at the pale and strappy pink dress that probably costed more than my last paycheck from Itachi.

"It's a casual dress, Sakura." Sasori stated matter-of-factly, sounding a little offended that I could count this simple multi-thousand dollar dress as fancy. I mean, how fucking dare I, right? How dare I question our capitalistic society with big corporations that charges us an extra 100 dollars for the extra stitch they add at the tail? Dare I be so bold?

"Casual? I would wear this to a party." I said offhandedly, stumbling down the stairs in the equally strappy black heels pressing my hand on either sides of the wall for dear life.

Of all the devils Satan could have sent to catch me at the bottom of the stairwell that day, mine had dark eyes and an amused smirk as if I had purposely almost fell to my death with Sasori gasping behind me to look cute for his amusement. I'm a woman to be feared, god damn him. God damn him all the way to hell and keep him there. Stop sending me devils and demons I can't kill.

I steadied myself almost too eagerly, almost throwing myself backwards and hitting my neck on the edge of a step to put me out of my misery and these terrible walking contraptions when I registered his hands gripping my soft and exposed, toned arms.

"You ready?" Itachi asked me, not that I think he really minded watching me stumble a little more, especially down the dirt path and into oncoming traffic. As long as I spare the dress and shoes, of course. He steadied me by the elbows, patiently—dare I say—allowing me to use his arms as leverage to keep myself from breaking ankles that I actually really, really needed.

"I guess." I huffed, gently tugging my arms back and taking the sleeve of his blazer for good measures.

Deidara had shut the television off in his excuse to preserve the ending for me and not because he was too much of a coward to watch the rest on his own and rushed to hold the door open for us. Itachi eloquently glided out and down the steps like a pompous swan while I stumbled after him like a new born giraffe dropped on its head at birth.

"Remember your training, yeah!" Deidara called, very weakly hiding the laughter in his voice as I could only imagine how my stumbling looked like from behind.

If I was any more composed and threatening, I may have told him to suck my ass. But in the state of inability I was in, I doubted my words held any more threat than the coo of a newborn child.

"Who in the hell—ugh—invented heels?" I asked by the third time I snapped my ankle, tugging harder on Itachi's sleeve than necessary in all my anger towards the two inches of death attached to my soles.

"Men."

"Why am I not surprise?" I nearly rolled my eyeballs off my face at yet another man-made invention that has set another standard for women.

The more men ran this world, the more I see us regressing. At least men back in the Neolithic era didn't care if our legs were shapy or long. As long as women could reproduce and do our parts as gatherers, we were the perfect soul mates—along with the other women in our tribe, but that's besides my point. My point was and still is the fact that even when we were barbarians, so to say, we were valued for our contribution, not our appearances. If I was going to be expected to strap on two inches of death in order to make myself attractive, Itachi should be able to do the same. If not on his feet, he better have a strap-on that made his dick two inches longer than it is then because neither my feet nor my sex life is suffering for some poor dick game.

"Thanks." To my surprise, he held the door open to allow me to climb in. Or it was more of a jumping and a wiggle because I wasn't about ready to give him a full view of kitty-cat between my legs because the short dress prevented me from lifting my feet any higher than four inches off the ground before riding up to my ribcage.

"I knew you were woman under all that." Kisame whistled when I set myself upright, throwing hair out of my face in time for Itachi to seat himself.

"Come back here and I'll show you how woman I really am."

Kisame acknowledged my challenge with a chuckle, a promise of sorts that he would make sure I followed through when we get the chance to spar. Though that would be very rare now that Itachi seemed to be more busy than usual, only dropping by the cabin they insisted on keeping me in and only to briefly check on the progress Sasori and Deidara made that day—which has been none since we came back from vacation, may I add—only a couple times a week instead of the consistent five.

Whatever workload that was keeping him so occupied never interested me. Questions about Itachi's work never came up in conversations, not even later on in our relationship after I had dropped by the office countless times just to visit. I understood the need for privacy as much as the next FBI agent so despite whatever curiosity I had about the Uchiha Security Corporation which supplies the best officers and high trained security officials, ranging from bodyguards for celebrities to the queen, I never questioned what Itachi actually does at the office. Paperwork, I always saw. But paperwork about what? I could only guess some of it pertaining to the security of our country and nation—you know, the usual.

You would think being seated and having the _honor_—if I could say that with a straight face—would have its effects on me, but despite how many times I'm reminded of his importance when he skips lunch for meetings and stays up late to finish whatever project the Uchihas were busying themselves in, I saw him as a simple man. Arrogant, yes, but simple and unimportant. Was that because I blatantly decided to repute his aristocracy out of stubbornness or because I was accustom to my relationship with the Uchihas, I can't really say. Maybe it was a fifty-fifty thing where this importance has grown to not faze me and at the same time, even when it did, my inner sass just went "nu-uh, your shit stinks too."

"Where are we going?" I asked after an eternity of silence and Itachi scrolling through his email, once again reinstating his importance to a corporation that has yet to make him its CEO. Oh wow, fucking emails. I could check mine too, but the basic spam about shopping deals isn't as important as whatever secret document they wanted to send over the very easily accessible and hackable internet.

"One of my favourite restaurants."

Might I add that I didn't even make a face at his blunt answer, just to demonstrate how much our relationship has developed?

"Itachi takes all his first dates there." Kisame cooed from the front, turning down the entertainment district of our city which contains the most pretentiously priced boutiques and restaurants.

"What?" That I reacted to, very loudly and excitedly. So surprised that it tore his attention away from the small, glowing device in his hand to give me a look of great offense and butthurt. "You've had dates before?"

It wasn't all that surprising that he could manage himself some eligible and willing—I hope—girls—or boys! The fact of the matter that made it all the more surprising was that his snooty little firm butt was even willing to entertain anyone. Knowing my attitude, he took it the wrong way—which was fine, I mean, a sulking Uchiha is the only Uchiha I will entertain.

"What do you take me for, Haruno?" He scowled, permanently putting is phone away as if he cared for my opinion of him and changing whatever predated one I initially had.

"Well, you can't blame a girl after you bribed her to date you, I mean—right?" Kisame's laughed boomed through the car, quickly dying down to a snicker with a quick stinkeye from my beloved boyfriend. "But I guess Deidara did say you did make your way around campus back in University…"

"Don't believe a thing that fool says."

A quick and fierce response like that should've just left me to believe it resonated with the type of love-hate-hate relationship the two men had with one another, but for some reason, I knew better. At least, I wish I could proudly say I did because whatever I knew, I clearly didn't use it when it was most needed.

"Sure." I said, unconvinced but humored, earning another snicker from Kisame which was followed by a curse as he tried to weave his way through a crowd without running over toes.

Very few things make me anxious—so few that for a while mama was convinced I was lowkey psycho and spent half her life searching for the receipt to return me to the orphanage she so proudly claims she adopted me from—as a favour to the orphanage, of course, not because I dazzled her. A gun to the head and running into oncoming traffic barely got a second thought from me, but to be surrounded by cameras and flashing lights did things to me I did not like.

My reaction to being slapped put in the center of a paparazzi crowd wasn't extreme by any means of the imagination. It was the simple heart racing, palm sweating, irritation adolescents get when they confess to their crush or are forced to speak to a crowd. This reaction, however, was rare and having to deal with it was not something I particularly enjoyed. There was something about being surrounded by people screaming at you, trying to touch you, and closing you in without you legally being allowed to fight back or do anything to defend myself left me feeling anxious. Still does to this day.

I could play matches at any sports tournament, answer questions in an organized meeting, but when people are swarming around me, trying to sneak pictures and calling for my attention, is it not hard to believe that I feel overwhelmed?

Perhaps the anxiety was written on my face as I watch men throw themselves in front of our car to snap pictures of Itachi and I in the back. Maybe Itachi could smell the sweat that was beginning to pool under my arms because he reached over to grab my clenched hands. To my chagrin, I jumped at the contact, looking at him with what I could possible guess were wild and anxious eyes because he took his time to stare at my face before speaking.

"Remember everything Deidara taught you." He spoke softly, giving my hand a small squeeze when Kisame came to complete stop. "And don't answer any of their questions."

There was an understanding look in his gaze that I didn't want to acknowledge was there. Or more, there was a way his understanding and kind gesture towards made me feel that I didn't want to believe was actually forming.

He and Kisame got out first, leaving me alone for the ten seconds I hoped wouldn't end as I listened to murmurs and screams through the car. Somewhere mixed in all the noise I registered my heart beating unusually fast in my ears, reminding me of my anxiety when it came to situations like these.

Paparazzi. Being followed. Being obsessed over. It was so suffocating and induced such extreme paranoia in me. I could laugh it off all I want, but there was a reason why I lived in a near empty house in the middle of the forest by myself instead of moving into the city when my mother got sick. Despite the dying down of overrated fascination with me that these social media fiends had, I didn't want to risk stirring anything up by relocating myself in the heart of all the flashing lights—at least, not without getting paid 20 grand a month, I suppose.

I had half the mind to lock the door when I saw Kisame reach for it, chiding myself for letting such a childish, irrational fear jeopardize Itachi's plans. Then I caught myself in the thought, in the act of genuinely caring for the prosperity of the man who was so willing to buy my time, attraction, and false affection.

In other words, I wanted to hurl myself out the other side and under the cars passing by at 5km an hour because of the swarm.

"Is that Haruno Sakura?" I heard when I came face to face with Itachi, his onyx eyes boring into mine as he held his hand out.

"Itachi, are you two dating?" Someone asked when I stepped out, making sure to realign my dress before giving any camera men a decent picture of my person for whatever magazine cover was still popular after all these years.

"Itachi, are you two together?"

I had wanted to scoff at their tactics, thinking the rephrasing the same question was going to get an answer out the man who was tightly holding my hand as he guided me to the restaurant so apparently infamous for him to use as his first date basis.

* * *

I shouldn't have been surprised to find out that I—or we, I should say, but we're focused on me here—made it onto numerous covers by the end of that night. I was little disappointed that I cared enough to ask Shizune what they said before stomping off in embarrassment for having slipped enough to ask, but not at all surprised at my very natural—as I like to comfort myself with—reaction. Damn me for feeding into an industry that makes money off of lies and my personal misery—the bigger lie the bigger the buck.

I had avoided talking about it or hearing about it for as long as I humanely could, which was definitely hard unless I was both deaf, blind, and mute since Haruno Sakura appearing in the papers again after two years was kind of a big deal. I made sure to avoid being spotted in public for as long as I could to stay out of the papers—which I succeeded, or so can only hope since Naruto and Sasuke only skimmed the trash to pick out pieces of themselves in articles. But I wasn't naïve enough to think I could dodge talking about this new venture forever, not from my friends at least, and especially not from the very few closes to me.

I just had hoped I wasn't going to be confronted about it first thing in the morning when I rolled out of bed on my one day off, in the middle of eating my fucking pink fucking grapefruit that I haven't been allowed to have all week because Sasori said something about the acidity being bad for my teeth? Ya, grapefruit was bad for my teeth. Doesn't care about how bad hairspray was for my lungs though, nope.

"Aren't you just the cutest?" Sasuke grounded out, throwing three different magazines onto the table in the middle of one delicious pink bite like carrying three magazines on his person for reading purposes alone didn't make him look obsessive. "I haven't seen you dress up like that since high school."

I carried on casually with my intended spoonful of teeth damaging acidity, only glancing over the three magazines to see that each cover held a shot from different angles from different timeslots within the ten seconds it took for us to walk from the car to the door. Itachi actually looked thoughtful as he held my hand, careful to hold me close to him as you could see the concentration on my face to ignore the flashing lights and screaming crowd of grown men. Seriously, who the hell pay these guys and why do we feed into such garbage?

"Ya, and that was casual." I murmured, shoving the three set of gossip booklets back towards his before I did something as stupid as indulge myself in reading them. We all knew how bad it was for us to give in, myself more than others. Because while they have grown used to laughing off the little gossip of who they're dating here and there, I went through a whole year of dealing with speculations of my prison sentence and rehabilitation. Forgive me for forever nurturing my hatred towards magazines who kept replaying the one thing that threw my life in a loop if not ruined everything I once had going for me.

"Naruto hit the fan when he saw this." He warned, sighing like he had endured ten hours of our best friend's whining and bitching. Which, from experience I can say, probably wasn't far from the truth.

"Oh, I know. Look at all the text messages he sent me." I snorted, sliding my near dead phone across the table for him to access. "You could hear him crying through the screen, begging me to not do this myself."

It was cute, I had to admit. It was always cute of him before it got annoying and overbearing. I knew better than to respond to any of Naruto's questions just yet. There was no way I could lie my way out of a picture which clearly depicts Itachi and I heading into a restaurant with linked fingers, and in time, the five-hundred questions he was sending my way would answer itself. Responding now would only somehow stir the pot, and the last thing I needed was my overly protective best friend caught in another fight and sent to jail for assault on the heir to the Uchiha Corp.

Had this not been Itachi on the scene with me, Sasuke would've responded with the same enthusiasm and repulsion as our third man. Not much had changed since high school when they would thoroughly interview—and scare off—any boy I was interested in or seen talking to more than once and I wasn't sure I would be fully content if it was any other twisted way. But because this was Sasuke's older brother and he had been conspiring with the older and greatly bastardly version of himself, it was different on his part. Did he do any interviewing and threatening behind doors? Maybe a little bit here and a little bit there, nothing as substantial as cornering a poor naked boy in the gym locker room, I assumed.

"I guess Itachi is putting his plan into action." He sighed, as if he was dreading this phase as much as I had been.

A part of me—very, very small—for whatever girlish and inner-romantic reason hoped that wasn't the case. That lunch that day was simply him doing it out of the kindness of his heart and not because he was getting this stupid plan of his rolling. I wasn't disappointed to know that it wasn't. It was never verbally spoken, but it was easy to guess by the way he dressed me up and had all those men lined up for my arrival. So I wasn't entirely, or at all, bummed to find out we were simply moving into the second stage of our plan.

"We've been out for lunch three times this week." I added, setting aside my no longer appetizing teeth degrading fruit.

"He's letting the public see you and speculate first before he confirms anything."

I paused, debating on whether I wanted any more of Sasuke's experiential remarks. "We're going out for dinner tonight."

"Ah," There was an understanding in his tone that perked my curiosity. Why wouldn't it? Anything Itachi thought of was most-likely run by his younger half. Lord knows why Sasuke didn't just lay it out for me instead of leaving me to guess his older brother's next move. Such betrayal, I know. "He's making the gossip juicer."

As if on cue my eyes rolled. I should've figured that was the motive behind all the speculation and constant dates. It wasn't like Uchiha Itachi enjoyed my company and wanted to spend some quality time with lil' ol' me anyways.

I snorted—more at myself for being stupid than anything else.

"We've been through this." Sasuke chuckled, his eyes warming in amusement as he stared at me with one of his arrogant smirks. It was only due to our twenty year of friendship that I knew specially which article(s) he was referring to from the way he looked at me, and only because it's been three years passed that I could finally laugh about it.

"How could I forget?" I shook my head as the images of those covers danced through my mind, once stopping me dead in my tracks as I pressed my face up against the glass window in horror when I accidentally came across it on a cold November morning. I had bought all the magazines on the rack that morning with the intention of burning them, scaring the more shop keeper as a frazzled looking high schooler who was running late with bedhead stumbled into the store and demanded every single copy he had. God knew I tried my best to suffocate the fire before it spread. I should've known talk had already reached school by the time I made it through my fifth batch of magazines. "Remember when they wrote stuff about us?"

It was his turn to roll his dark eyes, the memory suddenly no longer as sweet and amusing as he once liked to believe now that he thoroughly thought of it and said "I almost died that month."

I huffed in annoyance, slapping him on the hand for being just as overdramatic as he was when hiding behind me every time my then-boyfriend came around after articles speculating our relationship was posted all over the city. To this day, and probably to our grave, he still won't admit that my ex-boyfriend fazed him. He wasn't scared, just avoiding trouble, 'tis all. He could take him on if he really wanted to.

"You know Neji doesn't believe all this garbage." I muttered from behind my cup of tea, peeking up at him from behind my lashes to witness the mechanics in the mischievous part of his brain kicking in full gear while he did his best to suppress a smirk tugging his face.

"I don't know," He said, feigning ignorance. I paused, shooting him a warning look to second guess whatever was going to come out of his mouth next. "He might start to now that you're on covers again."

I set my cup down gently and blinked at him thoughtfully, debating on whether I wanted to outwardly react to the obvious bait or brush it aside. Either way, with whatever route I chose, Sasuke had the option of twisting it into whatever justification he wished. I could react because it bugged me or I was not reacting because I was trying to act like it didn't bug me. That's the type of asshole I had to deal with on the daily, though I guess karma—in the form of Naruto—came around to tear him a new one in my honour.

"Why do you have to say such bullshit?" I growled, feeling my fingers grip around the handle tightly as my frustration-clouded eyes bore into the sparkle of his. I knew I shouldn't have been as bothered as I was, and to be honest, I wasn't even bothered that much. It was just that…every time _he _is brought up—which has only been a handful of times since we broke up—a sudden and familiar wave of disappointment washes over me, taking me back to the exact moment when we both knew it wasn't going to work between us. "Besides, it's been years. I doubt he cares about me anymore."

Or at least that's what I liked to tell myself. If a small part of me held on to the belief that he did care about me, about us, and what we were three years ago then I would no doubt find myself regretfully seeking him out to clear the air. And lord knows what that could lead to. I especially didn't want to do that now that I was in an agreement with Itachi—not like I would accept such terms of getting back together (not like he would want to though haha) under any other circumstances…right? It was safer to convince myself that he has total and completely moved on, as I sorta had.

Things were different now. Our feelings had changed. I was simply clinging onto the idea of us and what we had been, as one does when they leave a relationship—a first, real relationship—despite it ending three years ago. Knowing me then and knowing the type of person he was, if we ever crossed paths again and decided to give us another shot, our dynamic wouldn't have been what it was in high school. Hell, we may not even have been compatible anymore.

What kept me wishfully referring back to us as us was the sole fact that our separation wasn't under the terms of lacking compassion, attraction and—dare I say—love. There wasn't another him or her, a fight, or reconcilable differences. It was heartbreaking begging and tears after months of enduring the scrutiny of being Haruno Sakura's, the drug dealer and convict's, boyfriend who apparently didn't know what was good for him—something that made being Itachi's girlfriend troubling, but not as much now that years have passed and the man knew what he was getting himself into.

It was "I can't keep doing this to you anymore" and not "it's not you, it's me." It was "I want you to be happy" and "but I am happy" and not "I don't feel happy anymore" or "I'm sorry." It was the sacrifices I no longer talk about anymore and the one no one else dared to bring up. Sacrifices I didn't want to remember or care about.

Despite knowing better, I caved into Sasuke's bait. "What? Does he ask about me?"

"Why do you care?" Sasuke gave me a knowing look, studying me calming as he twirled a stray teaspoon over his thumb. I tried answering with the excuse of pure curiosity, but that was as believable as confidently telling one the sky above us was brown. Instead I just stared at him, mouth closed and brows furrowed while he had the galls to tug his smirk wider. "See? He'd still care."

There was a way he said it that left an unspoken message up for debate. There was a small accusation in his tone that shot me to defend myself when I knew all I was doing was reopening old wounds.

"That's not to say I want to get back with him." I said a little too quickly, and Sasuke just stared at me for a long while after that, carefully trying to put his words together.

"Those two are entirely different." He said evenly, and maybe it was just the way the light hit him from behind when he moved, but his eyes softened in an understanding for the pain I never spoke about after I sobbed my eyes out the night I officially lost everything that was my life before the arrest. "You don't have to want to be with someone to care for them."

I smiled softly, deciding to myself that for once I was going to indulge myself by allowing myself to feel the things I suppressed over the years. Only for a moment. Then it's back to how things were.

"If we went with that logic, we would've been married by now." He tried teasingly, brushing off the joke because he thought I missed the way his eyes flashed with a tinge of disappointment. "But no, you're marrying my brother."

* * *

**All comments and criticism are widely accepted and appreciated.**


	6. VI

**VI**

* * *

By the time the warm winter of that year rolled around to cover our streets with rain instead of the snow most read and dreamt about, I became accustomed to going on a couple of dates here and occasional dinners there—and then promptly checking the covers of newspapers and magazines the next day to see if we made it to the front. It almost became a sport for me. Ten points if we made it to the front cover, five points if we got at least two pages' worth of coverage, and three points if we were briefly mentioned somewhere in the pages.

It became my new wave of motivation, keeping me focused and on the same objective mind state as Itachi. The twenty grand started looking less substantial by the time I received my second payment, for selfish reasons, that it no longer felt like enough motivation to at least be enthusiastic about my "job." Not because I thought the amount itself was mediocre—as if twenty grand a month could ever be anything as such—or I felt that it wasn't enough that I thought about quitting because we all know I entertain that idea humorously a couple dozen times he barks orders at me.

But because I never ever got to see the money myself.

The cheques I've only ever had the chance of holding onto for no more than an hour each quickly leaves my person the second I arrive home. I don't cash it. I don't deposit it into my bank account. I very quickly hand it over to Shizune to do what must be done: pay mama's gambling debts—also known as, the only reason why I agreed to this circus act.

Despite not making as much as many in this town, we've always made enough to keep our house, keep a fraction of our staff, feed ourselves, and have a little left over—if we don't count the money my mother owes from all the gambling she's done in the past to keep us up to par with the rest of the aristocrats when things started becoming less than luxurious; normal. There was a way she's lived for so long that once she started losing her share in the company she co-owned with Orochimaru and began making less and less she began to panic and gambled whatever was left of our fortune in hopes of winning two-folds of what she gambled, only to descended us deeper and deeper into debt.

My emergency back-up funds kept us from going completely under, thanks to Shizune's vicious refusal to let her gamble the money saved up for my survival. It was only when I was arrested for selling drugs that mama finally snapped out of this money-seeking conquest and started to accept what we no longer were: higher-class aristocrats. There was something about being the mother of a drug dealer who _just _got out of prison because of all these connections to powerful families—specifically the Uchihas and Uzumakis—that made those who were once starving for mama's debt back off and accept the monthly payment plan that we established. From then, things started to become normal and she learned to breathe again.

Until she was diagnosed with cancer.

It was only in mama's declining healthy that I agreed to the twenty-thousand monthly payment, and because, despite him never admitting it, I knew that it was the reason Sasuke didn't persuade his brother against choosing me as a candidate. She had a lot of life left in her by the way she and the medical staff kept her ovarian cancer at bay, but were she to pass away—and I hoped/knew it would be long after my fifth cheque—I wanted it to be debt free, even if I had to sell my soul for it to happen. Not that she knew that's what I was doing. As far as I knew she was concern, I was genuinely dating Uchiha Itachi and wasn't aware that I had already minimized her debt by forty-grand.

Seeing the numbers go down and the list of names getting shorter—when, at the end of the month, Shizune and I did the math to see how much we still owed and pretended it wasn't a big enough deal to throw a party—was enough to keep me going (as did the contract), but the tediousness of everything was starting to take its toll on me. I was determined to keep going, yes, but I wasn't all that thrilled about it—like any job. I just wanted him to pay me my fucking money.

But then Itachi started acting…weird.

Not like he grew a second head weird, because I would have gladly taken an axe to it without a second thought and he would be normal, single headed Itachi again with a gash on some part of his body that I happily inflected. But he started acting different in a way that made me question if the world was ending and he was doing everything possible to repent his sins and get into heaven.

For a very vague example until I could think of a better one, he started acting kind and warm towards me…off scene. On scene in front of cameras I knew it was fake no problem, but when we were alone or even just hanging out with the guys, he's mannerism were different than the ones I grew accustomed to hating.

It was very subtle and sporadic at first that I didn't notice it right away. The nasty remarks and insults gradually stopped, he would chuckle every once in a while, and sometimes, sometimes he would even smile at my antics instead of giving me the usual glare of annoyance when we were alone. To be completely honest, it wasn't even because the kindness was directed towards me that threw me off and I had to consistently ask Kisame if Itachi came down with a fever or had some sort of personality disorder that everyone failed to mention to me. It was the fact that he was just becoming kinder and warmer in general. Hell, even Deidara started looking at him curiously, almost avoiding him out of fear that Itachi was secretly trying to throw them all off before he strangled them with their own intestines.

I really started to notice it when he started taking me to secluded places for dates, such as a farm in the middle of buttfuck nowhere and on picnics in the middle of the forest like that didn't sound any alarms in my head. Realizing he could be carrying out the initial "Sakura-Assassination" plan, I thought, I always kept myself at arm's length and tense with a wee bit of anxiety. Our dates started frequenting the tabloids and papers less and less, and the assjuices who wrote these articles settled for digging up unicorn shit and fairy tears by writing up speculations for the circumstances of our relationship.

Even Sasuke asked about our lack of dates in the tabloids when his brother continued to come back from lunch late and leave work early, questioning exactly what his aniki was doing with all that time. When I told him our dates became more private and secluded, he tsked in annoyance but didn't say anything.

I wasn't about to tell him our dates started to feel more genuine than planned. Hell, every time that thought crossed my mind while we were rowing on the lake, walking in the woods, or having lunch together at the cottage, I stiffen a little and he would look down at me curiously. In the beginning I didn't believe what was happening. For fuck sakes I strained myself to listen for the extra footsteps and hush whispering that should've been following us with cameras, walked with sprained ankles from those men-made death contraption called heels, and endured entwining myself in his embrace or linking my fingers with him because I was hoping for the fucking ten points that was supposed be one of the only things that made this enjoyable.

But no! Itachi's sudden weird-ass had me fucked up and I started enjoying our dates, even laughing with the source of my turmoil because he made being alone pleasant.

Then I noticed that Kisame started to wander off a lot more. One minute he was tailing us in case someone wanted to kill us in the middle of the forest, the next disappeared and Itachi would spend a substantial amount of time ensuring me that no, Kisame didn't get kidnapped. Then he stopped coming with us all together, specifically on dates where Itachi would rent out the whole entertainment facility.

I was half-skeptical, half-didn't want to believe what were signs of obvious romantic interest because what was I supposed to do?! Did I wanted to engage in this realistically with him because lord knows that if things went sour between us I couldn't just lock myself in my house and not show my face again like the last time. Also, did I want to acknowledge that I am developing genuine feelings for the guy either?

Looking at tabloids and reading magazines articles about our fake-relationship with romantic finesse and love was one thing, but to have to read them, knowing that what they wrote was true, was something else. Something too personal that I also did not like being out there again.

So I never asked him and he never officially acclaimed anything.

"Haruno, get back here and help me!"

I just—reluctantly, of course—started reacquainting effort…so to say.

After snooping around and putting my interrogation skills to the test on a very drunk Kisame, I found out that much like my own best friend until we kidnapped him and dropped him off in the middle of a frozen lake without his shoes and a pair of skates, that the future Uchiha patriarch had never gone skating. After relaying my wishes to Deidara that I wanted to take him to the skating rink—obviously to embarrass him, what else—it was easy for him to make some calls and rent out the entire arena before the big hockey game that night.

And that was exactly where Itachi found himself. Dressed in a prim and pressed suit, completed with a tie and maybe a handkerchief in his breast pocket, all of which was concealed underneath is trench coat, his usual neat hair was slightly disarrayed as he gripped the ledge of the rink with his knees bent inwards, hell-bent on not falling on his ass for the second time since we got there five minutes prior.

He was mortified at the position he was in, for sure, but he was also determined to not be made a fool of and succeed in the art of balancing on two deadly blades atop of frozen liquid matter—like that was something to brag about at dinner parties. I, on the other hand, spun gracefully around him; demonstrating my much professionalism in this sport just to watch his face tint a little redder in exasperation and frustration.

"Of all the things you've done in your life, how is it the every great Uchiha Itachi never gone skating?" I questioned from the other side of the rink, watching him try to steady himself upright with a provocative wobble here and curse there. "You look like Sasuke the first time Naruto and I took him out on the lake."

He huffed a little in frustration, glaring at me in somewhat of a willing manner to come relieve him of this stress. Our ever amused bodyguard chuckled from the sidelines, watching the doors to make sure no one tried to intrude on our private date, of course, while getting a show out of it for all his hard work.

"Maybe he should practice here before you take him out in public."

Was it a suggestion I was going to listen to? Well, I was going to consider it, but we all know what a little bit of a pout and the batting of eyelashes has gotten me in the past, if I felt like it. And I sure as hell was going to feel like it if the man pissed me off. Either through suggestive persuasion or a violent one. If Naruto and I could do so with Sasuke, Deidara and I will definitely have no problem kidnapping Itachi—and I can finally get my match with Kisame I've been pinning for.

"Right, you Uchihas don't take embarrassment too well." I sighed, stopping in front of said Uchiha. What was supposed to be him gently holding my hand turned into him gripping both my forearms like a bitch. A bitch who didn't know when to let go and consistently called you that when they see you they're around your leg like the ex-potential-life-partner that they were. Not that I'm speaking from my own experience, of course. "Just slide each foot forward and out, one at a time."

I guess it clicked in his mind that he looked very un-Uchiha-like holding me the way he did (oh, how romantic sounding) and very quickly let go to less-bitch-like hold both of my hands.

"Do not let go of me." He ordered, his legs shaking in uncertainty while his short nails dug into the palm of my hands.

"Wow that must've been the most romantic thing you've ever said to me." I stately breathly, almost swooning with affection which only earned me a nasty look from my struggling lover. He straightened confidently—or ignorantly—making me jerk away to support my arms under his. "You gotta keep your knees bent or—shit!"

It was a mistake since the millisecond he decided to lock his knees. As I pulled away and reached out to steady him, he reached forward to grab back onto me, sending him more off-balance than he would've been initially and had us toppling over on the ice. I groaned and grumbled at his stupidity, more so with his form laying on top of me to add to the extra frustration. This was much easier with Sasuke, only because he needed to learn to skate on his own to get back to land, there was no other option, and so he did—on his own as Naruto and I skated circles around him. Itachi was lucky he had the option to crawl his way to the edge of the hockey rink and go home, so resorting to that tactic wasn't possible. Though I will admit, it would be funny to watch Kisame and Itachi try to tumble their way out of the rink—Kisame no doubt trying to run in and save him and yelp for me to save them in the end.

I hadn't realized he tucked his hand behind my head to keep it from hitting the ice until I tried to get up and found my hair tangled in his fingers, only for him to apologize quickly and crawl off like that wasn't a considerate thing that no one would ever think he was capable of.

The second we were on our feet his hands were intertwined with mine again.

Slowly we found a rhythm of him sliding his foot forward which was parallel to the foot I was sliding back. His knees stayed bent and locked as he lunged slightly, his hold relinquishing on my nail-dug hands ever so slightly as we made circles around the rink.

As much as I hated to admit it then and as much I as I cringe to admit it now, a part of me softened at the concentration he had on his face to engrave every muscle movement to memory instead of pitching a fit. I had already been surprised to hear the lack of complaints that came from him altogether, especially after he had topped onto the ice, but to see him try without resentment set a feeling of nervousness by how much I found myself appreciating it.

Didn't that defeat my whole purpose of embarrassing him like I had definitely one-hundred percent truthfully told Deidara?

"Are you ready to let go?" I asked him a little hesitantly, deciding it was best to remain quiet instead of making some sassy remark when he dropped my hand altogether once we reached the edge of the rink. He settled on holding onto the ledge for safety measures, watching me with only a hint of distressed as I skated away, but didn't voice any of it. "I'll be ahead so if anything, just skate towards me."

Itachi looked unsure for a moment, even looking towards Kisame who watched intently with the same amount of uncertainty. I half-expected the larger man to come slipping and sliding across the ice to try to be of some support for the leaner one. To give Kisame anymore credit other than to attempt something like that would be a misjudgment on your part.

And as Itachi ascended towards me, picking up speed with ill-placed confidence, I realized I misjudged the situation as well. He knew how to balance and how to skate, but stopping or slowly down had only even been initiated by me, resisting against him with the push of my hands. Now alone and coming towards me with no sign of slowing down, I was either going to be squished against a hard body and the boards or the staff was going to have to scrape the remains of Uchiha Itachi off the boards before the hockey game tonight.

"Shit. Shit. Shit!" I heard him curse when he realized it too, and I braced myself with bent knees and my one heel of skates digging into the ice as I took the impact and slammed back against the plastic protective boards.

I registered the vibration that hummed through my back, and whichever part managed to flow through Itachi's arms which were once again wrapped around my head. With a pat on the back he pulled back slightly, looking down at me with a mix of frustration, worry, and something else I hadn't quite figured out yet.

"We really need to work on your stopping, Uchiha." I smirked, settling his fingers between mine as I tried to guide him to the door with some resistance. "Are you ready to call it a day?"

A look of consideration passed through his features, a part of him probably wanting to end his suffering, but yet I would assume he was still determined to get it down pat now that he had already started. A large part of it would probably also have to do with the fact that he just learned Sasuke could skate and he could not.

Typical Uchiha antics.

"One more time."

He damn near flung me to the other side of the rink right after, something I couldn't forget because I found myself snorting at his child-like eagerness the whole way there. As much as they liked to pretend, and as much as they had everyone else fooled, Uchiha men were really just boys. They had fits and they sulked like every other child I knew, but just over little adult issues and more quietly than most. Sometimes you'd also find that they avoided things not because they don't like them, but because they know they'd like it_ too much_ that it would cloud their better judgement.

The most supportive thing I could have done in this situation was have faith in his ability to not royally fuck up like the last two times. That the best approach to take when trying to encourage someone—was that what I was trying to do—who was attempting a new activity with little faith in themselves. But the more logical part of me told me to brace myself for impact, and so as he sped towards me, I closed my eyes and prepared myself to be slammed against the boards.

There was a rustle of his sleeves beside my head and the hot fan of his breath against my cheek that told me he made it, but I was wary of opening my eyes in case he hadn't fully immersed himself in stopping. The last thing I wanted from this experience was a broken nose because of all the things that should have broken my nose by now, teaching my gown-ass pretend-boyfriend how to skate should not be one of them.

"Sakura." Itachi's low tremor echoed between us, and I peeked through a single eye to see him gently smirking down at me, his hair almost swayed forward to brush against my face.

"You did it!" I heard myself squealing, throwing my arms up without even thinking and wrapping them around his shoulders. His reflexes to return my excitement wasn't as quick as him reaching for the ledge to steady himself, one hand holding both of us upright and the other loosely wrapped around my waist.

He only hummed his excitement.

As I was about to suggest another lap around the rink with full-confidence that he would agree, Kisame's watch rung through the arena.

"Times up!" His voice boomed, just in time as the gate was pulled open and the Zamboni made its way across the ice.

Muscles made his way around to reach us, obviously there to assist the heir who was reluctant to accept it until he nearly snapped an ankle while I waddled behind with admiration for his new stride. We worked our skates off in a blissful silence we managed to establish over the course of our relationship, replacing the menacing, awkward one which used to dominant the gaps between our very few exchanges of demands, insults, and complaints.

I was well aware of what was happening between us. I just hadn't want to acknowledge it in fear of doing so would cause it to manifest right in front of me. If I could deny the obvious, if I chose not to believe in it, was it really happening? There was no such thing as reality, just individual perceptions, and if I could make it so that I perceive what was happening really wasn't happening, then was it really happening?

Sasuke was going to kill me while Naruto killed his brother.

We made our way up the stairs to our seats by the exit, fighting amongst the three of us until it was settled that I sat closest to the aisle while Kisame sat on the other side of Itachi. I still needed to reinstate that there were very few things I needed protection from, and rowdy hockey fans nor Uchiha fans fell into that category. There were very few menacing presences in Konoha, that had been made sure of over the last couple of years.

"Do you watch hockey games, Sakura?"

I snapped away from my usual habit of analyzing the people beginning to make their way in out of sheer curiosity, to meet a pair of obsidian orbs which bore into mine. There was a look of concentration which I would mistake for passion and interest throughout my relationship with him, but for now I just smiled softly at his curiosity.

"I used to in high school when our teams played." I replied, shifting in my seat just a little to edge away from the people brushing passed me to race down the stairs and subconsciously closer to Itachi. "Naruto and a couple of my other friends were on the team, so Sasuke and I would come out to support them."

He mused over what I just said for a moment, his eyes flickering in thought before replying, "but in general you don't enjoy it."

Crowds of fans began pouring into the arena in groups, dressed in merchandise and fan-gear to watch the annual hockey game against Snow. It's been a while since I've been dragged to one of these events by either Sasuke or Naruto, but it would seem like the crowds hadn't changed a bit since then.

"Oh my gosh, it's Itachi!"

Most time I made efforts to avoid these types of settings. Too many people who recognize me in one setting could lead to trouble. I mingled with the public when necessary, but going to these packed social events wasn't something I favoured. Still, I had little to worry about except potential awkward exchanges between me and the few who know me and gave enough fuck to make a big spectacle about it. Although I figured that sitting beside Uchiha Itachi, I had that coming.

"Is that…Is that that Sakura girl he's with?"

Out of habit my one eyebrow quirked at the name, almost, just almost, tempted enough to turn towards the girl who said that to ask her to repeat exactly what she had to audacity to address me as. But I knew better than to cause a scene myself. As much as I would like to let my guard down and allow myself handle the situation as I had with others, I was working despite how much it hadn't been feeling like it. Itachi would be none to please if I make it into the papers for starting a fight with some curious little fangirl at a hockey game.

"Well, to be honest, I don't enjoy watching any sports in general." There was a strain in my voice as I spoke, something Itachi definitely noted because he looked at the girls for me before a small flash of gentle warning look. "I would rather be doing it than watching. I find sitting on the sidelines boring."

"Hn."

"Did you play any sports in high school?"

There was a pregnant pause.

I knew that such information wasn't closing the lines of privacy that we had emphasized on earlier on in our relationship, but I knew better than to compare my idea of privacy with his—even though I really could find this information out in our year book or through Sasuke.

"I originally had participated in many sports during my freshman and sophomore year, but I mainly stuck to basketball and football in my junior and senior years."

"That makes sense; the two seasons don't overlap." I nodded considerably, hiding my surprised that he actually took part in such active sports instead of the chess club captain I had dubbed him to be. Basketball usually took part around the fall time and bled a little into the winter season, whereas football took place during the springtime and carried into late summer. I've scheduled enough practices for the boys to know exactly when each sport took place when that even to this day—and to the day I have kids—this information would be committed to heart. "You couldn't imagine how hard it was taking care of Naruto and Sasuke when they insisted on participating in as many sports team as they could. Sometimes I feel like I'm their mother, driving them around and organizing their lives for them."

"Hm." He chuckled, well aware of his younger brother's antics. "On top of keeping my younger brother in check, did you, yourself participate in many activities?"

I leaned my face into the palm of my hand, thinking back to the good old days before I got myself in such a messes which landed me desperate for money and putting myself in a situation that I would allow myself to be paid for pretend love.

"I tried everything in freshman and sophomore as well, but in my final two years, the coaches basically banned me from participating in any physical-contact sport and I had to join the cheerleading, track, and swim team."

I had pitched a fit about such rules and discrimination, but when I had been sent home from every tryout without so much as a second look, I could either accept it or not participate at all.

"I assume it was because you were too aggressive?" He looked at me knowingly with humor in his eyes, almost as if he found my acts of violence endearing that it tickled his soul.

"I guess—but I was allowed on the soccer team! I just couldn't join football or basketball because I had elbowed too many girls in the previous years—all by accident of course." You couldn't really blame me for being determined to win. I say those were qualities to look for in a player, but what did I get instead? Banishment! The girls team didn't win as many games the year I was banned, I'll tell you that. Whether it was because I wasn't there to knock some teeth out—by accident of course—or it was just a fluke, they'll have the rest of their lives to think about it.

Itachi have me an incurious look.

"What? I get really passionate!"

"We're all aware, Sakura." He chuckled, brushing his shoulders against mine. "My parents and I would attend Sasuke's games, and on top of all the cheering, we would hear your voice cheering—and threatening—Sasuke and Naruto the loudest."

"Oh god." My face heated up at the thought, remembering, vividly, that some of the "encouragement" I shouted would faint even the strongest of hearts. No doubt Mr. and Mrs. Uchiha would not have approved of my choice of colourful words.

"You were always around to take care of Sasuke when we couldn't." But when Itachi had said it, there wasn't a trace of disapproval in his voice. He just seemed _amused_ and a little something else. "At that time, my mother even thought that you and Sasuke were going to get married in the future, despite the Hyuuga courting you."

"Well, she's going to be disappointed to find out it's going to be you." I snorted, staring back at him in hopes he would appreciate my humor to find that he was just looking at me in a way that made me hold my breath.

I had counted the seconds between us, taking those moments to refocus myself and try to unclog my minds of thoughts which I would've made Naruto run me over with a truck if I had been thinking of them three months before. But his face got closer and I stopped counting, instead focusing on the details of his face, starting from the small curl at the tip of his eyelashes to the small little scar I had never seen before above his lip.

These were vital information, I told myself, things I would need to remember in case he ever got kidnap and was replaced with an imposter. As much as I tried to make the situation seem appear to be one of calculative measures with vital benefits for us in the future, I couldn't justify his next move—especially with the words he spoke.

There were no paparazzi to publicize our moments, nor were his words he spoke even necessary. Like the last few dates we went on, or the next few we would go on.

"Not in the least, Haruno." He whispered against my lips, testing my reaction to his intimacy before pressing our lips together softly to my own betrayal.

* * *

I was vaguely aware of the voices downstairs while I got ready. For obvious reasons, I had grown used to people being let in and out of my once secluded home in the country, and by people I really just meant Itachi and his posse with the occasional Sasuke and Naruto. Not very many people were allowed in the gates anyway, not that many wanted to come by. For someone living the life I did I knew I was being a little careless, but I had a lot of excuses for that, one of which, right then, I was silently hoping that the voice I heard belonged to a certain Uchiha.

Not that I would ever let him know that—not that I really allowed myself to indulge in such a traitorous thought. Me, wishing it was Itachi downstairs to see me, psh. I would only entertain that thought for half a second before I mentally slapped myself. I knew better than to let myself do this to myself. I was smarter than to genuinely believe what was happening between us was for anything else but for the sake of the job. Or so I thought and really hoped I was.

That didn't stop me from the excitement that filled my person for the one who was waiting for me downstairs.

"Jiraiya!" I practically squealed, bouncing down the last couple steps of the stairs we could finally afford to have polish and into the arms of my father-figure—or just father, with how long he's been with my mother, though not officially married.

"Ah, there she is! How have you been?"

I could feel the deep rumble in his chest as he rubbed my back, still hard and sturdy as ever despite his growing age and ever famous premature, now mature, grey hairs.

"How was your travel?"

Despite my own growing age and my own adventures, I always found myself quite fond of hearing the stories he always brought back with him from his travels. When I was younger they were always more extravagant, filled with myths of dragons and made-up stories about ninjas and spies, and as I got older I developed a larger appreciation for simple tales about the people he met and the things that he did. When my mother was around, he would sneak in comments about beautiful women just to get a rise out of her—but regardless, he remained faithful, or so I hoped he did, to this day.

I always told him he had a gift for storytelling and would make a great author. He always shot me down for simply buttering him up for an advance on my allowance. Not that I needed that now, but he wasn't going to know about that—insert nervous and evil snicker here.

"I brought back a bunch of souvenirs if that's what you're asking." He wiggled his eyebrows at my playfully, setting down his large backpack to rummage through for foreign goods and commodities.

"That's not what I'm asking."

"Well, I'm letting you know I brought back souvenirs anyways." And that was that, giving you a very clear picture where a majority of this sass came from if not from my mother. Daddy's got an attitude problem and so does his daughter, you can take it up with my mother but she has a temper. "How's your mother?"

Temperamental as always, I wanted to say, but those jokes were usually saved for later when he wanted to know stories, not about the serious issues I try my best to pretend aren't eating away at me.

"She's gotten skinnier." I said warily, careful to watch his reaction in case it gave way to the heartache he always tried to conceal around us. "Are you going to visit her while you're in town?"

"What other reason do I have to be in town other than to see you and your mother?" He laughed, but there wasn't any humour. "But before I head off, let me ask my question again,"

I got a shiver down my spine, which has never failed me, to spare myself from either danger or an uncomfortable situation and run in the other direction. Why I didn't listen to it, I will always question to this day. Something about this man being my dad probably had a lot to do with it, and in any other case where it wasn't such and I ignored that warning, I probably would've been dead. I kind of wished I was when he pulled a pile of magazines—which was so unconventional to carry around with you when you're travelling may I add and would've chide him about if the covers didn't have mine and Itachi's face plastered over them.

I could probably have still run if I wanted to, but I don't know what this man has been eating on his travels but despite how much I train I could never outrun him. So I stood rooted and dumbstruck as he waved them in my face, asking again, almost menacingly: "how are you, really?"

"You really don't believe that, do you?" I choked, yes, choked. Man, Sakura, nice one. You sure convinced him, didn't you? Atta girl, making grandma role over in her grave in shame. What else are you going to do to shame this family, other than your terrible lying skills which you were supposed to have learned to perfect by now. If it didn't make it any more obvious, I would've slapped myself.

"Well, usually I don't, but this is a clear picture of you on a date with Uchiha Itachi—and I have plenty more in my car if you need more reasons as to why I do believe it." Had he not been my dad, this would almost sound obsessively creepy. "How long?"

I opened my mouth and closed it a total of three times before deciding to spare myself the humiliation and just jump off a cliff. Jiraiya might not be around very often because of his travels—more now that he was determined to find something to either cure, reverse, or slow down the cancer cells—but he was still my dad nonetheless and talking about my love-life, fake or real, wasn't something any normal girl voluntarily liked to do with their fathers, I was sure. In that aspect, we can agree that for once I was normal.

"Since October…" I said almost shamefully, embarrassed because I knew he expected a call from me, but what's a girl in a relationship to do? Call up her dad and rave about her new relationship and how, for the first month, I had done nothing but dick around while being conditioned into being the perfect Uchiha wife? 1. He would encourage my dicking around, but then 2. Come back from buttfuck nowhere on the map to drag me out of this toxic relationship and give Itachi his two cents, thus removing my very hefty source of income.

Contrary to my, and many other's, popular belief of his reaction to dating one of "those types of people", insert his bunny ears here, his face lit up in delight which made take two steps back to make sure the man who looks suspiciously like my father-figure actually, and I hadn't gotten myself and Shizune into another hostage situation. Yes, I said another. "Well, I hope you didn't get me a Christmas gift because this is good enough."

I looked from a guilty-looking Shizune to my glowing father, both confused and frightened as I calculated the various places I hid my firearms and throwing knives.

"What?" I dragged out carefully, watching for any micromovements and expressions which signified the danger I was looking for, and any reason I might have for reaching into the hidden stash of knives I had behind the family portrait by the stairs and hitting this man right between the brows.

"Do you know what this means?" He grabbed me and spun me around to my dismay, and had I not been in such a state of despair I would've laughed at the picture of my 50 plus year old father twirling around on the balls of his feet like an elegant ballerina from the theatre, with magazines pooled at his feet from all the excitement that he had to fucking drop them for Shizune to clean up. "This means grandchildren!"

"We're nowhere close to that yet!" I threw him add, around ready to launch a knife between his brow regardless of the fact that I established his identity.

"But you're getting there!" I couldn't tell you who was filled with more dread: me, or Shizune who looked like she was so close to follow my idea of throwing herself off the edge of the cliff for keeping her mouth shut about my little predicament. "What did your mother say?"

This was not how I was hoping to spend the last night of the year. I would rather be tied to a chair and interrogated by foreign enemies with an ax hanging over my head than deal with Jiraiya bombarding me with all these questions.

"I've told her about it, but I never mentioned it was serious."

"Ah, so he doesn't know." His voice took a serious tone, looking at me thoughtfully but also incuriously as if it was a given that such an information should be shared.

"No, I don't think he has a reason to yet. Maybe if it gets more serious, but right now it's none of his business."

We worked too damn hard and spent too much money we didn't have at the time to keep my mom's cancer rumor at bay. And although I knew Itachi better than to spread gossips and rumors—for one, we were both on the same page about that—it did not come naturally for me to tell anyone who came waltzing into my life that my famous doctor of a mother was sick. Deidara had been the only one for a long while, the last person I remember having to tell was Naruto who wept like a baby and tried to serenade my mother.

"You know what they say about keeping secrets in a relationship." He chide me matter-of-factly, crossing his arms oh-so-holy like I didn't know about how he flirted—although not cheat—with the many pretty ladies he met on his trip and never told my mom about. I know about that Becky girl with the good hair.

"What—don't pull that shit on me!" My face, betraying me, heated up regardless and I punched his arm for good measure. "This isn't a secret if I plan to tell him, but also—even if it was it doesn't affect our relationship in anyway."

"Haha, I know." His laugh was deep and wholesome, and as much as I wanted to stay mad, or at least pretend to be, I couldn't with how much he seemed to be genuinely enjoying himself. I wasn't stupid in not knowing that like my mother, he liked to get a rise out of me. Sometimes I just pretended to see him happy, it was rare for this family nowadays with what's happening, but we make do with what we have, I guess. "It's good seeing you happy. Your mother and I were worried you would never find yourself a boyfriend again."

In all honestly, I was wounded by the implications.

"I'm only 20…why do you sound like you lost all hope until now?" I wasn't sure I wanted to know, and I busied myself helping Shizune pick up the rest of the ill-written pamphlet of lies to later be used to fuel for the fireplace.

"Because we're your parents."

"What kind of bullshit excuse is that?!"

Or at least, the majority would be used for the fire, some were destroyed upon impact with my father's person.

* * *

**Yes, the first half of the chapter had been publish before. I'm reorganizing the chapters, but nonetheless, the length (in words) and the content of the story remains the same. **

**Thank you so much for all your patience on my unorganized ass. I can't put into words how happy your words of encouragement makes me. **

**All comments and criticism are widely accepted and appreciated.**


End file.
